White Out
by Sue Shay
Summary: LANGUAGE M rating in Ch 7! Jane pisses off powerful people; it's an inborn talent. But when the daughter of a congresswoman disappears from an exclusive ski resort, utilizing Jane's mental clarity is the only way to get her back. Can Lisbon keep him in line so they both don't end up dead? And can Jane finally figure out the mystery surrounding Lisbon since he returned to the US?
1. One Flight To Vail

_Thanks to Cumberland River Relic and Make-Mine-A-Kiaora for their beta reading and feedback. Please check out their latest stories. You'll really enjoy them!_

_This story will be slow to post. I have a lot on my plate at the moment. Unfortunately parts of this story has been trying to fight their way out of my skull since before Christmas and most of the pieces don't seem related, dammit. I've had to adapt a couple things to even get THIS far. Hope you'll find it in your heart to be patient as I continue to wrestle with it. Rated T until I can figure out if I need to hike it._

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**_Austin, Texas, January 3_****_rd_**

As Jane entered the ultramodern FBI offices, he smirked at the little bit of Christmas bling that still adorned the lobby. By the reception desk stood an aluminum tree, sleek and shiny like the rest of the building. On the clear glass handrail of the balcony was a silver wreath and a pathetic strand of plain white lights. Obviously the FBI was aiming for sophistication, but it actually struck Jane as elitist and distant, saying nothing warm and welcoming like everyone wants the Christmas holiday to represent. In other words, fitting to Jane's view of both Christmas and the FBI - a false front for a false holiday for a false organization.

It was about time to take the decorations down. The FBI had already brought out Jane's cynicism without throwing their insincere celebration into the mix.

Jane crossed to the elevator. As he pressed the call button, he heard the soft rattle of the car's approach. It was nice that he didn't have to wait. He stepped back in case anyone got off.

When the doors opened, Lisbon nearly ran him over in her hasty dash for the front entrance. He grabbed her arms to keep them both upright.

"Jane! Where the hell have you been? Didn't you get Fischer's text? You were supposed to be here at 7:30."

"Well, I—"

She grabbed his arm and started pulling him for the door. "You missed the briefing."

"But I –"

"We're going to Colorado. A kidnapping case. Let's go."

"Colorado?" A grin spread across Jane's face as he followed her out of the building into the warm sunshine of Austin's 65 degree winter day. "Where in Colorado?"

Lisbon glanced around to be certain there were no outsiders nearby. It would have been impressive that she'd picked up the FBI sense of caution so quickly if he didn't know it was really an extension of the paranoia instilled by the investigation into the seven suspects. That was long over, but surviving such a protracted war was bound to leave battle scars. It wasn't a bad habit given their new life with the FBI, although he hoped it hadn't grown out of proportion.

"Vail. A congresswoman's daughter was kidnapped while on a ski vacation."

"Oo, the snowy Rocky Mountains! Maybe we can hit the slopes, get a couple of runs in while we're there."

She snapped her fingers a few times as if to get his attention.

"Jane, concentrate," she said. "There's a lot to do before our flight out. For one thing, I need to get my winter clothes out of storage."

Well, that made sense. She lived in a residency hotel a few blocks away, the second in as many months. Although the small suite was comfortable and elegant for the type of place it was, the closet space wasn't great and she didn't unpack much of her stuff. In fact, she seemed resistant to getting too settled.

Or was it really that she didn't want to get too attached to Austin and the FBI? Or to him?

"What time's the flight?"

"9:50, so come on."

Less than two hours. This wasn't so good. "There's not a later one?"

"Not if we're going to make a good connecting flight from Dallas to Colorado. Fischer said we'd better be there by 9:30 or all our heads would roll."

Jane shook his head, dismayed. _She still doesn't get it, the lack of power that the FBI has over us…_

"Do not fash thyself, my dear," he said with exaggerated calm, grasping her forearm and tugging her away from the path toward her car.

"Huh?" she asked, sufficiently distracted to allow his redirect. "'Fash'?"

"It means "get upset". I'm saying don't worry. I have the solution to the biggest part of your problem in my humble abode."

"What? Jane, knock it off. We don't have time for fooling around."

He smiled to himself, interpreting a different meaning for 'fooling around' than the one she meant. Their relationship was nowhere near considering that, unless she'd had a sudden change of heart. So far, dinner downtown and a simple kiss at the end of the night were as far as they'd gotten. Not even a French kiss. It was a little disappointing.

"Yes, we're up against the clock, but what I have will save you a great deal of time."

The half-sigh half-groan was a clear signal that he'd at least persuaded her to listen.

"Come with me. I have a coat that will fit you, and of course your work shoes are sturdy enough to handle any snow we might encounter. It's not like you're going to be trudging across the tundra."

"What are you talking about?"

He slid his hand down her arm and intertwined his fingers in hers.

"I'm talking about a down jacket I purchased that's the wrong size. Follow me, please."

They hurried to the Airstream parked in its special location on the edge of the parking lot. Jane unlocked the door and held it open for her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, not moving to enter.

"Don't worry. I didn't leave any dirty underwear lying around. At worst? A dirty teacup sits in the sink."

She rolled her eyes and mounted the metal steps. He rolled his eyes too as he followed her.

"I'm too old to be that kind of bachelor," he said as he stepped up next to her.

Her gaze stopped its travel around the clean and simple décor, coming to rest on the blue and white harlequin statuette on the dinette table. Someday he'd explain what the statue meant to him.

"Er…what kind?" she asked, tearing her gaze away and looking at him.

"The kind to have empty crisp packets and well-thumbed copies of Playboy strewn about the floor."

"'Crisp'?"

"Potato chips."

"Ah."

"Yes, I'm old enough to buy the big bag and reuse a bowl. More economic that way."

Lisbon studied him a moment, probably gauging how much truth he was revealing in his usual flippant manner. When he flashed his disarming 'showman' smile, she looked away.

"So you didn't hang any Christmas stuff at all? What about the homemade ornament that we all got from Agent Stanley's daughter? I hung that up in my hotel room. It was sweet."

Jane felt his smile melt into a sardonic twist. "Putting up Christmas decorations is a gateway drug, Lisbon. First, you put up glittered and sequined Styrofoam balls made by a seven-year-old. Next, you're attending church every Sunday. Then you're wandering the streets of Rome in a hair shirt, giving your worldly possessions to the Pope. No, Lisbon. No tinsel in the Airstream, thanks."

She chuckled like he knew she would.

"You're such a curmudgeon at Christmas," she said, shaking her head. "Nice place, anyway."

"That's right. You've never been in here before."

Actually, he'd realized long ago that she'd been avoiding a visit inside the trailer. Even now she shifted from foot to foot, staring at him expectantly. What he didn't quite understand was why, although he had his pet theory.

"Would you like the fifty-cent tour?"

"What I would like is for you to show me the coat, Jane. We're in a hurry, remember?"

"Right. Just a moment." As he started for the bedroom, he was grateful that he'd taken a moment to straighten up the place before leaving for work. Not that he _would_ leave dirty boxers and empty food wrappers lying around, but the accumulation of mugs in the sink had gotten somewhat embarrassing. "The water in the kettle is still hot and there are paper travel cups above the sink. Help yourself to a cup of tea."

In the bedroom, Jane found the garment on the wardrobe shelf and brought it back to the living area. Lisbon had located the teabags and was preparing a cup to go.

"I ordered this online, expecting a men's large," he said, tearing the light plastic away and shaking the folds out of the dark taupe down sweater. It fluffed immediately. "I _ordered_ a men's large, and the label on it says 'men's large, but…"

He grasped it by the shoulders and held it for her to see. After staring a moment, Lisbon chuckled.

"Yeah, that's what I did," Jane admitted. He moved it against his chest for comparison. Several inches of his suit coat remained exposed.

Lisbon took it, examining the label. "That is most definitely mismarked. Maybe it's a kid's large?"

"Put it on. No doubt it will fit you. It doesn't have a hood but I'm sure you'll be toasty warm in one of those stylin' FBI ball caps-"

"Patagonia brand." She held it to her chest and then out, her expression softening as she took in the details. "This is a pricy coat. Aren't you going to try to return it?"

"No, actually, I was planning to donate it to the January coat drive that Agent Stanley mentioned his church is having, but I didn't have the chance to swing by there yet."

Her gaze rose to his, staring at him in surprise. Taking the jacket from her unresisting grasp, he unzipped it and slid it onto one of her arms. She took over putting it on the rest of the way.

" There. It even fits over your blazer. Wear it for this trip, and if you don't spill anything on it, you can donate it when we get back. Or keep it. I ordered a different one last night which should be delivered sometime next week."

She zipped it and held out her arms to display the fit.

"Perfect!" he said, brushing a stray feather off the arm. "I know you always stow a hat and gloves in your ready bag, so you're all set. Anything else you absolutely must have I can pick up for you at the ski shop at the resort."

"I can't—" She took the coat off and set it on the dinette bench.

"You can. Remember my agreement with the FBI. It will be easy enough to expense it."

He could see that look of stubbornness coming into her eyes, recognizing that it was time to stop pushing.

"Now…tell me about the missing daughter while I add some stuff to my ready bag. Then we'll go back to your hotel and get what you need."

Her footsteps fell into line behind him as he returned to his bedroom.

"If I use this coat, there's no reason to return to the hotel or go to the storage place. My go-bag is already in my trunk."

"Oh! Good, that'll save us some time." He tossed a warm smile over his shoulder to her. She was looking around as he'd seen her do numerous times on so many crime scenes, accessing the environs. "So, about the missing person…"

"We're calling it a kidnapping. Representative Laduree's daughter Carrie, aged 19, was on a ski vacation during winter break from classes at Washington and Lee University. She separated from friends in the lodge, saying she had to go to the restroom. When she didn't come to the bar as expected, they searched for her, called her cellphone which she didn't answer and then called the police who called her parents. The Ladurees brought us in to find her. Wiley pinged the phone and her tablet; no luck."

From alongside his bed, Jane brought out the leather, zippered satchel that served as his ready bag and opened it, taking a quick recon of the contents. "When did this happen?"

"Last night around ten o'clock."

"No ardent lover that she may have run off with?"

"Not that the family knows of."

_Toothpaste is low._ Jane brushed past Lisbon to retrieve a travel-sized tube from storage.

"Any boyfriends?" he asked.

"Logan Wells, 20, from a well-respected Boston family. He and a group of friends were in the bar waiting for her. And actually he was the one who raised the alarm about her having gone missing."

He tucked everything back into the bag and zipped it up again. "Why is this automatically deemed a kidnapping?"

Just as Lisbon opened her mouth, he spoke with her. "Because it's a congresswoman's daughter."

Then he gestured for Lisbon to exit the bedroom and followed her to the living area.

"The evil twins," Lisbon said ruefully. "Wealthy and well-connected. And of course, we're the FBI. Special treatment for special people."

Jane harrumphed, picking up the coat and putting it in her hand. He lifted the seat cushion of one of the dinette benches, retrieving his black wool pea coat and black wool scarf from storage. Gesturing toward the door, he bowed his head slightly. "After you, my dear. You're driving, correct?"

* * *

They arrived at the airport and found Cho standing at the gate with his arms crossed. To Jane there appeared to be slight irritation on the usually expressionless face. No sign of Fischer so that wasn't the cause.

"I tried to check in," Cho said. "There are no seats for us. Apparently, the flight was already overbooked when Fischer tried to force the priority seating."

"Seriously?" Lisbon asked. She opened her mouth and then stopped with second thoughts.

"Wise," Jane murmured. "Here's our travel agent now."

The lanky brunette was hurrying up the terminal, dodging holiday travelers and waving for the team to come to her. Be damned if Jane was going to rush, though.

"I had to change our itinerary. We're flying via military transport. Come with me."

"Oh!" Jane raised his brows at Lisbon. "Finally. Federal jet. That's more like it."

"Hush," Lisbon said. "I'm not liking this at all."

"And you shouldn't," Cho said, striding after Fischer.

They followed her to a door that accessed the tarmac and an airport transport. After a nerve-racking ride weaving between moving jumbo jets in a baggage-cart type vehicle, they sped toward a gray-beige hangar marked US Air Force. Inside were two small cargo jets.

Jane's mouth went dry. He wasn't an enthusiastic flier, but something about a drinks cart and bags of peanuts generally made it more bearable. This flight didn't even have a nice cup of tea.

"Be careful what you wish for," Cho said, giving Jane a sour look.

"Damn," Lisbon said.

* * *

The good part about flying with the military, Jane found out, was that their group wasn't required to switch planes in either Dallas/Fort Worth or in Denver, which with layover would mean a four-hour trip. Instead they were landing at Vail-Eagle Airport exactly two hours and twenty-five minutes later.

Which was about all Jane's ass could take of the jump seat.

And it was a damned good thing Jane had brought his heavy pea coat. Noon-time temps in Vail were hovering around 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

Still, the snow adorning the surrounding peaks was gorgeous. As Fischer arranged for transportation, Jane stood in the bright sun under the open blue sky, marveling at the glint on the fluffy white mountaintops. He tuned out the "elevator music" on the p.a. system and the traffic on the nearby interstate highway, concentrating solely on a flock of migrating wrens gathered in a nearby tree, chattering in the song of Nature. Peace was found where he sought it.

Not surprisingly, considering the number of vacationers in the famous skiing area, Fischer rented the only vehicle available, a huge passenger van that could easily seat eleven. Jane took the rear-most bench and stretched his legs out in the direction of the passenger side. Cho mimicked him from a middle bench, facing opposite. Lisbon was in the passenger seat up front with Fischer despite there being one additional empty bench.

"Hey, where are we staying?" Jane asked as he pulled his cellphone from his coat, looking for an answer to a text he'd sent earlier.

"Our choices are extremely limited by price and availability," Fischer said. "And keep in mind it's two days after New Year's and everyone is here for the holidays."

Cho's gaze met Jane's, his eyebrows raised. Jane grinned and looked at his phone.

"You're being wonderfully evasive, Kim. Where are we staying?"

She mumbled something.

"Where, did you say?"

"The Sunset Motel, just outside of Avon."

He let out a laugh and tapped a message on his texting app.

"Sounds enchanting. No doubt clean and elegant in every detail."

"Cleaner than your current suit jacket," she said.

Even Cho chuckled at that.

"Touché, Agent Fischer. But…may I suggest an alternative?"

Fischer and Lisbon looked at each other in alarm. Jane looked back at his phone which vibrated in his hand.

"How about a lovely four-bedroom condo overlooking Gondola One?" Another text came in. "Oh! It has a _veranda_ overlooking Gondola One. And an exercise room… although the elliptical is broken at the moment."

The van pulled onto the shoulder of the road, skidding on the gravel before jerking to a halt. Fischer glared at him using the rearview mirror.

"And who, pray tell, owns that?" she asked.

The temptation for one last quip was too great. "Wish I'd brought my swim trunks. It has a hot tub as well."

"Jane!" Lisbon said, hauling her irritated supervisor voice from out of retirement.

He graced them both with his Model Number Two showman smile, never retired. "Just a grateful citizen who feels indebted to our government for everything it's done for him."

The knowing resignation in Lisbon's eyes made him proud, and despite understanding that he didn't have to add it, he told her, "And Teresa? Walter Mashburn sends his love."

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	2. Two Views of Truth

_Thank you to Chris (Make-Mine-A-Kiaora) and Cumberland River Relic for their help and support with this story. Check out their stories in my favorites list, __All Systems Go__ and __Clear Blue Morning__ respectively. They're fantastic writers!_

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_As much as I would LOVE to, I don't own the characters or the concept of The Mentalist and am making no money from writing these stories. Hope you enjoy._

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**Chapter 2 - Two Views of Truth**

_Vail Ski Resort – Main Building_

Lisbon's brow knit as she watched Jane wander the ski lodge inside and out. Something about the way he glanced around like he was watching imaginary snowflakes was making her just a smidge nervous.

Unlike Fischer, however, Lisbon knew to give Jane slack on his leash. She hung back, watching for the signs that something had caught his attention. Soon she realized part of his action was that he was scoping out video cameras locations. She was mystified what else he had in mind until she engaged in a game of 'Delayed Simon Says'. If he took time to peer out a window or across a room, she followed right after doing the same thing.

"Ah ha! You're checking if she was being watched," she said when she caught up to him by the caféteria.

"Well, of course she was being watched. The security cameras are kinda what you'd call a giveaway. What I'm mostly interested in is where she could be viewed from by both camera and human."

"Vail P.D., the Colorado Bureau of Investigation _and_ the Denver-FBI liaison have all checked the video. She entered the restroom and never came out."

Jane reared his head back, staring at Lisbon in disbelief.

"What? Never? Did anyone check the stalls? Maybe that poor girl is trapped in a toilet because the door stuck."

"Ha ha, Jane," she said, making certain her voice dripped with sarcasm. "We're pretty sure they even called her name once or twice….So…tell me. Why did you contact Mashburn? I didn't realize you were such fast friends."

"Oh, sure," Jane said, giving a slight shrug. "He's been giving me dating tips ever since I returned to the States."

"Ha ha," she said again.

"Seriously. If I'm ever going to get back into the game, I need help from an expert. And who better than someone who's been married four times?"

Lisbon stared at him a moment. "Four? He got married again?"

"You hadn't heard? Yes, he married a supermodel from Brazil. Débora Maria Santiago. I think they're legally separated already, if you need a date for Mardi Gras."

"I don't think I'll be celebrating Mardi Gras this year," she said. The tone in her voice came out a lot snippier than she'd intended.

He flashed his cheekiest smile but stared at the surveillance system. As he opened his mouth to speak, Fischer came up, glowering like a stage manager whose prima ballerinas were late for their onstage cues.

"What's going on?" she demanded. If she intended to get her ballerinas on their points, she failed.

"I need to see the video from that camera." Jane pointed at the smoke-gray dome in the ceiling. "And the one that covers the south entrance."

"They've been examined already."

Jane looked at Lisbon and shook his head. "See? I told you we shouldn't have come. The locals have this case wrapped up already. They've examined the recordings and determined that Carrie vanished into smoke."

Fischer pursed her lips, still retaining the glare, but even Lisbon could see Fischer appreciated she'd walked into that one. It was a feeling the former Jane-boss was well-versed in. Eventually Fischer would learn not to question Jane's requests.

Well…not _all_ of Jane's requests.

"I'd like to speak with the friends she'd left in the bar and also her parents."

"The friends are at the Laduree family condo. They were staying there with Carrie. Vail PD is on site to ensure they don't leave town. I had planned to speak with them as soon as you finished here."

"And the parents?" Lisbon asked.

"They're still making their way from D.C. Their flight is due to arrive around three-thirty."

Jane stared at Fischer, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against one another. Lisbon recognized the familiar gesture. It was almost like he was trying to get a feel for the information as though it were a coin in a magic trick.

"Interesting," he said. With a small shrug he turned and started in the direction Fischer had approached from. "Are the offices over here? Where do I go to see the video?"

* * *

It took a while to clear out the lodge's administration offices, but soon only the FBI were gathered around the surveillance equipment to review the recordings.

They watched video covering the restroom approach, starting with the passage by the daughter and running the recording at regular speed as many people went in and out. A girl identified by the FBI-Denver liaison as a friend of the victim entered the scene, looking normal, even curious at first and then exiting looking confused. Soon she was going in and out, rising panic showing in her movements. She left and came back with another girl, both looking agitated.

By Jane's request, the video was reset to the moment Carrie entered the facilities. He watched about five minutes after, then requested that the south entrance video be queued to the same time Carrie entered the restroom. In a few minutes, he exclaimed "There she is!" and pointed to the screen.

The Denver liaison Agent Lochner froze the video as everyone except Jane leaned forward.

"Where?" Fischer asked. "Next to the woman with the baby?"

"She IS the woman with the baby," Jane said.

Lisbon scoffed. She wasn't alone in granting him the special look that insane people garner when they start spouting off about alien thought waves blocked by special tin-foil helmets.

"Seriously?" She looked hard at the screen.

"It's a simple disguise probably stored in one of the rental lockers. She changed her hat, her jacket, put on some ridiculous, lightly tinted glasses and picked up a bundle of blankets. No one was looking for a puffy-jacketed mother with her hair tucked under a hat. They were looking for a slender teenager with long blond hair and a tight sweater."

It sucked to admit it, but he was right. Lisbon nodded. "Yes, I remember that woman exiting the restroom not long after Carrie entered. I thought it was a little odd that she had an infant out so late at night."

"And she mostly hid her face by seeming to talk to the baby. Because she came out of the restroom so soon after Carrie went in, it seemed too quick to be the same person. Our privileged daughter has been planning this, perhaps for a while."

"How are you so sure it's her?" Cho asked, stepping forward.

"Two things. One, this camera angle shows there's no face in that bundle, just a dark recess. She could have easily put at least a doll in the bundle to make it more plausible. Not that it would matter, because the way she'd holding the bundle is ludi—"

"What is reason number two?" Fischer asked.

Lisbon smirked. The agent was definitely learning _some_ things, like _don't let Jane wander off in the conversation_.

Jane rolled his eyes. "_Two_," he said with special emphasis, "is that the exact same stride pattern that Carrie used is copied by this so-called mother. A distinct toe bounce. High energy. Hard to miss, especially when displayed by a supposed mother of a newborn child at 10 o'clock at night. A baby that small tends to wear out young parents."

Agent Lochner clicked his mouse and brought up the restroom video again. They watched the Representative's daughter and then the mother. Everyone let out a sigh. There was no mistaking it.

"Dammit," Lisbon said. "And none of us noticed that the Ugg boots are the same."

"I noticed," Jane said, his voice hiding none of his smug arrogance.

"Not a kidnapping, then," Fischer said, crossing her arms and leaning back on one hip.

"Not even a missing person," Cho said. "She's an adult and is obviously walking out under her own volition."

"She's leaving under suspicious circumstances," Lochner said. "In Colorado, a report can legally be filed at any time for an adult."

"Well, she has a fifteen hour jump on us, wherever she went," Lisbon said.

"That's not a problem." Jane stood and buttoned his pea coat. Quirking one brow, he glanced around. "I'm going to talk with Carrie's friends. Anybody want to tell me how to get there?"

Then he walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets while glancing around in a carefree manner. As Fischer scoffed and placed her hands on her hips, Lisbon rose and followed after him.

"What do you mean, 'that's not a problem'?" she asked. "If she's not kidnapped, what are we going to do to find her?"

"We wait for her next move," he said.

There was an unspoken 'What else would it be?' question in his voice. Lisbon hated when he used that tone.

"In the meanwhile," he continued, "let's go talk to her friends."

* * *

_**Author's Note**__: Having never written a Mystery/Romantic Suspense story before, I'm moving with caution while writing this just so I don't ruin the story by making a mistake in the foundation. Please bear with me as I tiptoe through this. (I find reviews very encouraging!) :)_


	3. Three Guesses

Thank you to **_Chris (Make-Mine-A-Kiaora)_** and **_Cumberland River Relic_** for their help and support with this story. Check out their stories in my favorites list, **Aftermath** and **Clear Blue Morning** respectively. They're fantastic writers!

* * *

_As much as I would LOVE to, I don't own the characters or the concept of The Mentalist and am making no money from writing these stories. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

Cho crossed his arms and stared at the group of college students seated before him.

Astonishing how young they seemed and how carefree despite the gravity surrounding the situation. The oldest of the bunch, Carrie's boyfriend Logan Wells, appeared genuine in his concern, but the others behaved as if it was all just an interruption to their party.

Evident to Cho, Lisbon was frustrated with the group. Every question she asked was edged and short. As much as he respected her, he was disappointed that she let it get to her.

Or perhaps, that she let _Jane_ get to her.

What was it this time? During nearly thirteen years, Jane had pulled all sorts of stunts on her. Everything from lying to her face, to shooting at her with blank rounds, to breaking his word that he'd take the rap when he murdered Red John. After all that, she should be completely immune. Hell, Cho was.

Maybe she was ticked that Jane wasn't leading the interviews even though he was the one who pushed to meet the witnesses. Yet when they arrived, Jane asked to see Carrie's phone and tablet, then buried his nose in her school files, exclaiming happily that he found her mid-term notes. There must be something to that. For all his seemingly random craziness, Jane didn't do things on a whim. Cho realized he'd better keep an eye on the consultant.

Uncrossing his arms, Cho stepped forward and put his hand on Lisbon's shoulder to stop her. It felt odd to do so. He'd never had to take over an interview from her before and it would have been unthinkable when she was his boss. In some ways it still seemed rude, but since she was getting nowhere, a change in tactic was in order.

Lisbon relinquished lead immediately, sharing a grimace with him as she turned away. Very odd. Since when did Lisbon ever expose vulnerability before? What exactly _had_ Jane done that upset her?

Cho would wait until after this interview was done and they were settled at Mashburn's condo. Then he'd find a moment alone with Lisbon to ask what happened. Despite them all fitting in with the FBI better than expected, Cho was still concerned that everyone got along. The teamwork and camaraderie of CBI was probably impossible to get again, but the coldness of his first days with the FBI was fading slowly. Somehow, Jane's presence was responsible for that. Something about his irreverence to the whole formal atmosphere of the Austin office seemed to make everyone misstep. It was as if in watching him, they forgot to watch themselves. Not necessarily a bad thing, actually.

Well, whatever it was, Cho wanted that trend to continue. It was kinda nice not having to deal with bullshitters by being one. Straight talk was always his first choice.

In stepping forward, Cho attracted the stares of the kids seated before him on the sectional sofa. All college-aged, all from influential families. And except for Wells, every expression contained a cynical twist and a slight resentment, especially Carrie's best friend, Synthea Joyner, a perky blonde with perfect makeup and designer clothes. She was listed as nineteen years old, but so far she showed the emotional age of a fifteen year old; entitled and self-absorbed. They all did. Spoiled rich kids without discipline or boundaries.

And then it came to Cho; Lisbon had been out of sorts since Jane mentioned Mashburn. Talk about rich, spoiled and without boundaries.

But now was not the time to examine that particular pickle. Lisbon's difficulties with Jane would have to wait. As much as he cared about both Lisbon and Jane, their relationship wasn't his problem. The case came first.

The phone on the table in front of Synthea vibrated and began to play "Bad To The Bone". He gestured to Synthea to stop her from picking it up. The platinum blond rolled her eyes and leaned back.

"Have any of you noticed odd behavior in Carrie recently?" Cho asked.

The four friends on the sofa looked at each other, puzzled, before shaking their heads. Cho looked at Logan Wells, seated in an easy chair, apart from the group. The young blond man swallowed hard and glance to the right.

"What about boyfriends?" Cho asked. "Was she seeing anyone besides Wells?"

"We were exclusive," Wells protested.

Synthea's expression told Cho differently. The sullen know-it-all rolled her eyes, surprising Cho with the obviousness of her tell. He'd taken her for a professional liar.

"What do you know about it?" Cho asked, staring at her directly.

"Nothing, I guess." Her bottom lip stuck out, the fifteen-year-old as Cho judged her earlier, now dropping to the nine-year-old bracket.

Jane made a speculative hum, indicating his displeasure at the answer but not looking up from the tablet he was browsing. Lisbon crossed to where he was seated and looked over his shoulder. He held the tablet at a better angle for her, and in a moment she mimicked his hum before reading out loud.

"'How was your Thanksgiving?'" Lisbon said, affecting a Southern California accent like Synthea's. "'Did you get together with Badass and have possum pie? Ha ha, you know I'm kidding. Love ya, girl.'"

"He wasn't a boyfriend, alright?" Synthea sneered. "He was just this guy she said she hooked up with once or twice."

"What's his name?" Cho asked.

"I don't know. She never told me. I guess that's why we called him Badass all the time. He was just this hunky dude she met in a bar."

Cho looked at Wells whose color had gone from cherry tomato to peeled potato.

With a slight smirk, Jane tapped the screen and held it up for Lisbon again.

"You really have to stop missing Professor Engvald's class. I know 8 o'clock is a stupid class schedule for a Monday, but even Computer Science majors need all their credits to graduate."

"Let me hazard a guess," Jane said when Lisbon finished. "Badass Possum Pie Eater was keeping Carrie from her studies and making her miss that 8 a.m. Monday morning class? Sounds like it was a habit, not an occasional hookup."

Cho looked at each of Carrie's friends seated on the sofa. From their expressions, it was evident the two-timing wasn't a secret. Except from Wells, of course.

"You all knew?" His voice broke and a tear slipped from his eye.

"Duh," Synthea said, her lip curling. "You've got as much personality as an unused beer koozie. Car' just dated you because of her parents." The three girls sitting next to her rolled their eyes. Cho was appalled at the disregard for Wells.

"What about her parents?" Jane said, leaning forward a little.

"What about 'em?"

"Did she get along with her parents?" Lisbon asked.

"Duh," Synthea said again. "Who _ever_ gets along with her parents?"

_Not you, anyway._ Cho threw a glance at Lisbon and Jane. Both were looking at the tablet again.

"Did they fight?" Cho asked.

"Maybe. I guess. Especially her mom the hotshot politician. I don't really know."

"Have you ever met them?"

"No."

"You said you've been best friends with her since prep school, but you've never met her parents?"

"How could I?"

"Did she ever meet your parents?" Jane asked.

"Uh…sure. A couple times, I guess. When they came to school. They weren't great pals, I guess."

"But your parents liked her?" Lisbon asked.

Jane grinned up at Lisbon. "Excellent question." He looked at Synthea again. "Did they?"

Carrie's best friend shrugged. "I guess. She was pretty good at fooling people into thinking she was a fuzz sucker."

"Fuzz sucker." Jane chuckled under his breath. In a normal voice he asked, "And she was dating Mr. Wells there because it fit into her persona as a goodie-two-shoes, as a fuzz sucker."

"Well…yeah…I guess. What does any of that have to do with her kidnapping?"

Lisbon scowled and started to ask a question, probably the same question that crossed Cho's mind. _Who said anything about a kidnapping?_ Jane grabbed her arm to stop her. Lisbon flushed as she looked away.

"Probably nothing. Just trying to get the lay of the land, find out on whom the kidnappers will try to make an emotional appeal."

"This was a kidnapping?" Wells asked. "Is that what happened to her?"

Jane graced the young man with a gentle smile. "That's always a possibility, although we haven't received a ransom note yet."

Synthea looked genuinely puzzled as she glanced at the three girls seated on the sofa with her.

"Never mind," Jane continued with a shrug. "Forget I said anything."

Then Jane looked at Cho and winked.

_I hate when he does that to me._ Now that Rigby wasn't around to embarrass, Jane seemed to make it a goal to discomfort Cho whenever possible.

Jane rose to his feet. "In fact, I think we should get back to the resort in case the Ladurees show up there." He glanced around the room and gestured. "And you kids better clean up this mess before the owners get back. Otherwise it's going to be Goldilocks and the Three Bears all over again."

He pulled a mugging expression before tottering toward the exit. "Who's been eating MY porridge?" he mumbled under his breath.

Cho took a deep breath, torn between wanting to cross examine Synthea about why she got uncomfortable about there not yet being a ransom note and wanting to follow Jane's lead in letting the kids stew a bit.

"Don't leave town," he said, dropping his card on the table and turning toward the door.

* * *

Something about Jane struck Lisbon as being 'off'.

She watched him closely as they entered the resort. He was walking tenderly, as though his feet hurt. When he held the door open for her, she stopped to glance over him.

"What's with you?" she asked.

"My toes are cold," he said, waving her into the door.

She hurried through, halting again just inside, waiting for Cho to pass.

"What do you mean 'My toes are cold'?" she asked, looking at his feet when he entered.

"Just what I said. It's January in Colorado and I'm wearing street shoes in 20 degree weather. My toes are cold."

"But, you…you never get cold," she said. _Was Jane okay?_

"I've spent the last six months in Austin which is classified as a subtropical humid climate. Three of those months were primarily indoors in my detention suite. The two years previous to that, I was on a tropical island. Pardon me if my extremities need time to acclimate."

She groaned and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the ski shop. "You're an idiot. Come with me, you helpless baby."

Ten minutes later, they rejoined Cho, Fischer and Lochlan in the resort's surveillance room. . Fischer and Lochner had been left behind to examine other video surveillance for signs of the disguised Carrie Laduree.

Everyone stared at Jane's feet as they entered. Despite her best efforts, Lisbon couldn't talk him into buying sensible winter boots, which is how he ended up with chartreuse green and silver gray snowboarding boots.

"Where did you get those?" Fischer asked.

Jane made a big show of lifting his pant cuffs to display more of the boots, like people would enjoy them.

"Lisbon picked them out with me. Cool, huh?"

It was like the limb responding to the reflex hammer. Lisbon's arm swung up and hit Jane on the shoulder. Cho's face twitched in a near smile.

"Yeah." Kim Fischer definitely smiled. "Very. Anyway…we're glad you're here. Cho updated us on what the friends seemed to know, so let me share what we found."

Lochlan queued the video and ran a segment of the parking lot cameras' views. The tower-mounted lights barely illuminated the scene, but it was enough to show Puffy-Jacket Mama toss her "baby" into the bed of a dark pickup truck where it sank into the snow. "Mama" scrambled into the front seat. She slammed the door after herself and the truck sped away.

"Ah ha!" Jane murmured.

Everyone looked at his smiling face. Fischer heaved a sigh before crossing her arms and turning back to the video monitor.

"Four-wheel-drive truck. Extended cab Chevy or GMC pickup with dark paint, either black or dark blue. Unfortunately the video doesn't tell us much else. The angle and the distance disallow a clear view of the plates or even if there _are_ plates on the vehicle. Our little runaway picked her spot perfectly."

"Oh, there's a lot of information in that video," Jane said, his voice annoying Lisbon with its chirpiness. "We know that the truck has been here for several days, since there's snow piled in the bed. We also know that wherever it was parked is fairly close to the resort, probably under the cover of trees."

"How do we know that?" Lochlan asked.

"It's an open-bed truck; no cap on the back. I checked the local weather history earlier today. The Vail area had six inches of snow on New Year's Eve followed by clear skies and consistent temps in the teens and low twenties. However, this being high-altitude Colorado, the sun is intense enough to warm the metal bed of a dark truck, causing the snow to melt some. Yet, the snow puffed out the back when the pickup took off. Therefore, unmelted. Therefore, parked in shade most of the time."

"And the part about being nearby?" Fischer prompted.

It came to Lisbon in a flash. It was scary that she was starting to think like Jane.

"There was still plenty of snow in the bed of that truck," Lisbon said. "If the truck had gotten to highway speeds, the snow would have blown out or at least gotten wind-sculpted. Yet it kinda looked deep all the way through the back."

"Exactly." Jane smiled at her with pride.

"So we have a dark 4x4 pickup truck with snow in the back that was parked in the area," Cho said in a flat voice. "There are probably several thousand of those in this county alone."

"Ah! But to gauge from the surveillance video, Carrie isn't a very tall girl. She somewhat struggled to climb up to the passenger seat. We're looking for a dark truck with a lifted suspension and snow in its bed."

"Still-" Lochlan began.

"Aaaand, Agent Lochlan," Jane interrupted, holding up one finger and sweeping it past them all. Lisbon wanted to lean forward and bite it in punishment for Jane being so melodramatic. "How many in this area of Colorado – of this part of the country, even - have Virginia or West Virginia license plates?"

"An accomplice from school," Cho guessed, nodding slightly and bringing his hand to his chin as he stared into his own thoughts. Then he looked at Jane. "Or a lover."

"Badass Possum Pie Eater would be my guess." Jane's grin at his own joke was positively rude, making Lisbon chuckle.

"Who is Badass Possum Pie-?" Kim started to ask. She was interrupted by a stern, alto voice coming from the door.

"Who's in charge here?"

* * *

_To be continued…_


	4. For the Love of Trouble

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, follows and favorites. I feel very guilty about not having time to respond to each and every one of you as I used to, but life has put a platter's worth of stuff on my tiny little plate. Please know how much it means to me to hear your feedback. I truly appreciate it!

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**Warning: minor spoiler to White Lines 06x11! **_And then an allusion to an incident I made up in my head._

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Also a great big thank you to Cumberland River Relic and Make-Mine-A-Kiaora, two wonderful writers who are such a big help in keeping me going with this story. They're both on my favorite authors list; you should check 'em out! Seriously! :)

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As much as I would LOVE to, I don't own the characters or the concept of The Mentalist and am making no money from writing these stories. Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter 4: For the Love of Trouble**

It wasn't a question as much as a demand. A demand by someone accustomed to being obeyed without hesitation.

Even if the briefing in Austin hadn't included photos of Roberta and Franklin Laduree, Lisbon would have had no trouble identifying the raging politician and her husband. They stomped into the room accompanied by their entourage of one bodyguard and three personal assistants.

"Well?"

As Lisbon formed a response, Fischer stepped up.

"I'm Special Agent Fischer of the FBI's Austin office. Special Agent Lochner of the Denver office called us in to help with this investigation." She offered her hand. "You are Carrie Laduree's parents, I presume?"

Mrs. Laduree, a petite, slender blonde with a battle-axe face, crossed her arms and glared up at Fischer.

"And what has your investigation determined so far?"

Jane preempted Fischer's response with his own, stepping forward to interject his presence into the conversation. "It's an ongoing investigation and can't be discussed with family members. When did you last speak with your precious Carrie?"

The glare on the congresswoman's face dropped for only a millisecond but resumed with double ferocity as it turned on Jane.

"And who are you?"

It was just the sort of tone that Lisbon expected to bring out the worst in her consultant…except it wasn't her problem anymore. Still, Lisbon knew better than to smirk in front of the congresswoman. She set her expression into careful neutrality as she listened.

"Me?" Jane graced her with his nearly-drunk-frat-boy smile reminiscent of the Yao Ming 'Bitch Please' meme. "I'm the waste of taxpayer dollars that your campaign manager has your ghost-writer constantly rail against in your op-ed pieces." Then his expression went cold and hard. "But I'm also the one who will find out what happened with…_your_…daughter."

The woman was apoplectic, unable to respond. Jane turned away slowly, tapping his lips with a single finger.

"And I use the term 'daughter' loosely." He looked sharply at the couple. "Since she's not really yours, is she?"

Lisbon thought one of the entourage should prepare to catch the husband, based on the way his color drained and his body swayed a little. It was then that Lisbon noticed how shaggy Mr. Laduree looked generally. His weak chin was covered in 24 hours' worth of beard growth and his thinning medium-length salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled and slightly oily, like he hadn't showered either.

It was funny to Lisbon. Mrs. Laduree looked more put together and better prepared than her husband did. Did she have something to do with the girl's disappearance?

Jane continued, giving the congresswoman a level stare. "I mean, you're connected with a House Armed Services subcommittee. I would think that if she were your own flesh and blood, a call to the Pentagon would have gotten you a flight last night, bringing you directly here from Andrews Air Force Base. Instead you caught a commercial flight – not the first one, at that. There _were_ other flights, weren't there? I would think that if you really love someone and are desperate about her safety, you'd make every effort to get here as quickly as possible, even borrowing a private jet from one of your corporate sponsors."

He turned back. There was that twinkle in his eye that Teresa Lisbon knew always preceded trouble. "But no… No, there were two reasons you couldn't leave Washington last night. The first of course being that you didn't care enough. She isn't your blood, after all. The second was that you had no idea where your husband was, did you? He was off philandering and had powered down his cellphone. You couldn't reach him until this morning to tell him that Carrie had vanished."

Mrs. Laduree's tiny frame trembled from her dyed blonde hair to her rubber overshoes. Her hands clenched into seething balls at her side as if in preparation. Lisbon was certain there was a slug in Jane's future, not a slap as usually came from women he'd enraged. Served him right, as far as Lisbon was concerned.

But then the old political hack took a deep breath, the shake in her shoulders dissipating with the huge exhale that followed. Her fists released and she waggled her fingers to let the blood back in.

Jane's smug expression turned into a sincere smile.

"That's better," he said. "This investigation can only proceed if we have the absolute truth from you. She's not your daughter, although she is your husband's, possibly from an illicit affair while you both were in college…or a little after based on Carrie's age. You were building your political career and wanted to avoid scandal. Your husband's mistress at the time wouldn't get an abortion and he couldn't bear to have his child raised by the woman who'd given birth to her. The mistress was…underage? A drug addict? Not of the right social standing?"

He leaned aside to lock gazes with Mr. Laduree while gesturing toward the congresswoman.

"Remarkable how much she loves you, Frankie."

Franklin Laduree staggered one step sideways before the bodyguard caught him and put him back on his feet.

"Can we just get on with finding Carrie and her kidnappers?" Mrs. Laduree demanded.

Fischer opened her mouth to speak but only got as far as "Your-"

"We're waiting on a ransom demand and proof of life," Jane said quickly. "But in the meanwhile, perhaps you could make yourself available to Agent Lisbon and Agent Cho to answer a few standard questions about when you'd seen your daughter last and… how she's doing in school…How her mood has been, et cetera. The usual stuff."

He searched Lisbon's face until she gave him a tight nod. She wasn't entirely sure what his game was, but it was clear that he wanted her to keep them occupied. He turned back to the parents.

"Just who the hell are you?" Mr. Laduree demanded.

"Me? I'm a consultant…._The_ consultant."

He turned away, motioning for Fischer and Lochlan to follow. Barely missing a beat, Lisbon smiled politely at the Ladurees and requested they join her at a small table nearby, allowing them to lead the way. With an impatient gesture, Mrs. Laduree ordered the entourage to wait for them outside the security office, then strode toward the table.

In annoyance, Lisbon looked towards Jane.

At that moment, he looked back and smiled. It was that golden expression, the one announcing everything was going his way, exactly as he'd planned it. She shook her head and followed Cho.

_I wish I had half his confidence. Cheeky bastard._

* * *

Jane enjoyed Lisbon's wry smile as she turned away.

Encouraging. Maybe he did annoy her with his quirky antics, but she was most definitely amused.

Somehow he needed to get that amusement transposed into a different display of affection. Oh, she loved him, all right, but with his track record of twisting his way past touchy emotions like a snake in seizure, there was no way in hell she'd ever admit it, especially to herself. Once she did, she'd have no choice but to act on it. It was her honest nature.

Suppressing a sigh, he continued to where Lochlan and Fischer waited for him. He couldn't blame Lisbon for being in denial. If he were in love with someone as manipulative and deceiving as he was, he'd never admit it to himself either. And Lisbon knew all too well that the broken don't get better just by loving them.

"Jane," Fischer said firmly. "What the hell was that about? Why didn't you tell them that Carrie wasn't kidnapped? That instead she'd snuck away?"

"Hm? Oh…um…because sometimes telling a lie gets you closer to the truth."

Lochlan reared back with impatient disbelief. In a deep whisper, probably to keep the Ladurees from hearing, he said, "Agent Fischer, my regional director called in your unit because the Washington bureau assured us that you'd get this wrapped up quickly, not because we needed a vaudeville act to entertain us while we waited for the kidnappers to kill Rep Laduree's daughter!"

"She wasn't kidnapped," Fischer said.

"Lured away, then!" Lochlan hissed.

"A spoiled college student ran off in order to spite her overbearing and uncaring parents," she said to Jane, indicating he should follow her as they moved away from where the interview of the parents was taking place. "What other truth are you aiming for?"

"A spoiled college student went through the effort of making her disappearance a mystery," Jane said. "Why take even five minutes to get into a disguise? Why didn't she just run instead? And the best friend acted surprised when there hasn't been a ransom demand already. When was she expecting it to arrive? No, this isn't going according to the plan Synthea was told. There's more here than a simple rebellion against authority."

"What about those Virginia plates you just pulled out of your ass?" Lochlan demanded.

"What about them?" Jane asked seriously. "Can we get Vail PD to stop trucks with those plates? Also, maybe an area gas station caught our truck on security video."

"The local police shut down the valley in a three mile radius starting last night," Lochlan said. "They didn't have a vehicle to look for at the time. Only the girl's photo ID image. So far nothing."

"I got them started looking for the dark pickup truck the moment we saw it in the video. Lochlan? Have them stop any vehicle at all that has Virginia or West Virginia plates. And maybe even Kentucky and Maryland for good measure. Have them start checking convenience stores and gas stations as well."

Flashing Jane a dirty look, Lochlan departed.

"That's a good start, anyway," Jane said, "since we don't have much else. It has to be worth a try. She obviously needed help getting away, so why not someone from school? Oh, and I'd recommend confiscating both Bobbie's and Frankie's phones in the name of handling the kidnapping. Find out who they've been calling if you can. Despite them making a show of being outraged at my exposing their true relationship, I still sensed a lot of deception in both of them."

After all these weeks of working together proving his track record, he'd hoped she'd gotten over her shyness about minor infractions of the rules. Instead Fischer looked at him with complete disbelief.

"You want me to invade the privacy of a US Congressional member."

Jane shrugged in response.

"Do you think a US Congressional member would stop the FBI from invading yours, if necessary?"

She took a deep breath and turned her eyes to the ceiling. He smiled when her shoulders dropped in defeat.

"I'll see what I can do." Then she stared hard at him again. "Now…who is Badass Possum Pie Eater?"

* * *

Sometimes the thought crossed Lisbon's mind that her true purpose with the FBI wasn't as a damned good cop (which she was) or as an interpreter between Jane and Abbott (which she also was.) No, her bigger role was the official Jane Victim Ruffled Feather Smoother. Many years of working with him made her a uniquely qualified expert at it.

Cho followed the standard "parents of kidnapped/murdered child" questioning protocol while giving no indication of what the video showed. Lisbon interjected assurances of Jane's expertise and the FBI's intention to treat the case seriously. It was the usual script: 'no resource spared', 'complete dedication', 'safety of child, first and foremost'.

Beneath the platitudes, Lisbon's cop instinct was buzzing. Rep. Laduree and Mr. Laduree had a strange aura about them, like they were taking turns caring about what they told. As much as Lisbon had learned from Jane about human behavior, she wasn't nearly as good with interpreting kinesics as she felt she probably should be.

As Mr. Laduree was telling of the numerous academic awards Carrie had won throughout high school and her brilliant co-captaincy of the cheerleading squad, Lisbon met Cho's gaze. His expression reflected her suspicions. Normally Jane was the first to offer full disclosure to parents, something Lisbon attributed to his tragic history as a father of a murder victim. In this case, Jane had made a point of not sharing that their daughter wasn't kidnapped but had run away.

And Fischer had almost blown it twice in less than ten minutes. Sometimes the senior agent's lack of comprehension was infuriating. What was it with her unprofessionalism? Jane had told Lisbon about Fischer speaking freely in front of witnesses and suspects on more than one occasion. Sometimes Jane turned it to his advantage, such as when he read on Krystal Markham's face where the DEA murderers were. Other times, there was no recovering from the leggy brunette's diarrhea of the mouth, such as when she mentioned in front of a suspect about the chemical traces found in the basement of the victim's house. It completely destroyed Jane's trap to catch the guy. After that it took two weeks to find him after he fled.

"Logan?" Frank Laduree asked.

Something about the tone of his voice jarred Lisbon from the growing irritation created by remembering the Byers bombing in Radcliff, Kentucky. Talk about unprofessional! She really needed to remain in the present and pay attention. Sitting up straighter, she looked at the father of the…victim, for want of a better word. His complexion seemed even paler.

Mr. Laduree continued. "Logan Wells is the best thing to come into Carrie's life. He took care of her. We never had to worry about her when she was with Logan."

It was a poor performance, Lisbon thought. Mr. Laduree allowed his voice to rise while his clasped hands pushed forward on the table before him. Over all, he seemed a little too enthusiastic about Carrie's East Coast Prep boyfriend. Lisbon glanced at the congresswoman. The battle-axe face was twisted and strained. Was it because of the relationship with her non-daughter?

Or with her husband?

One thing that had been evident, there was no love lost between this couple. Jane's sarcasm may have gone over the heads of Fischer and Lochlan, but he most definitely knew they were not in love. Possibly never had been. The case file reflected a long marriage unmarked by legal separation or public discord, with plenty of shared projects and contributions to charity. It looked good on paper.

The two people in front of her told a completely different story. Granted, they had been married a long time and that could be why the glow was gone. But Lisbon doubted it. And if Jane was right that Franklin Laduree had spent the night with a mistress…

"How long have Carrie and Logan been seeing each other?" Cho asked.

For the first time Roberta Laduree appeared uncertain but Frank spoke almost immediately. "Four months."

"Did they know each other before going to Washington & Lee University?" Lisbon asked.

"No, they met there," Mr. Laduree said. "They had many of the same classes because they're both computer majors. Carrie's a-a-a quiet girl… and I guess she felt comfortable with him. She never had a steady beau growing up in Idaho before she attended prep school."

_A cheerleader without a steady boyfriend? That doesn't sound like any cheerleader I ever met...except when she was a slut and had _many_ boyfriends. _ Lisbon glanced at Cho before asking her next question. He didn't look back. "And what about going to college? Did she like it in Virginia? It's so different from Idaho or…" She consulted her notes. "Or the prep school in Oregon."

"Fine," Representative Laduree said. The chill in her tone could have cryopreserved Walt Disney all over again. "She liked Washington & Lee just fine. Why do you ask? I don't believe it is pertinent to the situation."

"These are standard questions, ma'am," Cho said. "Just trying to get a complete picture of our victim. Now, in the last couple of days, have either of you received any unexplained phone calls, texts or emails? Sometimes kidnappers will test the line of communication ahead of time as part of the planning protocol."

For a moment, Mr. Laduree froze in his seat. If it hadn't been for years of exposure to Jane's methodology, Lisbon might not have thought twice about it.

Cho leaned forward.

"Anything at all. A hang up. A wrong number. A blank text…"

"Not that I can recall. You, Franklin?"

"Uh...yeah, I think I did get one or two." He then blurted, "But you can call my office where most of my phone calls and emails get routed."

"We'll do that," Cho said. He glanced over Mr. Laduree's shoulder and closed his notebook. "Well, I think we're done here. Agent Fischer would like us to join them now."

Lisbon looked over to see Kim Fischer looking at them with raised brows, giving a little nod. Beyond her, Jane sat on a bench, adjusting his new boots and grinning. Trying to contain a deep sigh, Lisbon rose to her feet and gestured for the Ladurees to head toward Fischer, which they did.

"Mrs Laduree? Mr. Laduree? We're going to take you to… to the facilities we're using as our HQ here in Vail. We'll try to make you comfortable while we're waiting for some sort of contact with Carrie's kidnapper or kidnappers. If you'll come with us, please?"

Carrie's parents followed Fischer as she started for the exit. Lisbon hung back until Cho caught up to her.

"What was that crap about a wrong number?" she murmured for fear of being overheard. "I've never heard of kidnappers doing that."

Again, Cho almost smiled. Or rather, he lost some of the frown that had formed about the time of Mrs. Laduree's arrogant verbal assault.

"No…I've never heard of that either. It was a test. There's something not right about this weird little rich family."

She stared at his face while he watched Fischer soothing residual ruffled feathers. Cho was right, of course. Adult children generally don't 'run away' from their parents, and parents don't try to go along with the concept that their children have been kidnapped. There was always the standard Five Stages of Grief, albeit rapidly cycled through. These folks had the anger part down pat, and Mr. Laduree's wistful reminiscence of his daughter could have been interpreted as depression, but neither parents denied the idea of a kidnapping or made any of the usual "give them anything they want" demonstrations. They went straight to acceptance from there, bouncing back up to anger.

It was evident that Jane was right about Mrs. Laduree's lack of caring for what was technically her step-daughter, but if the father had gone through all that to retain his bastard child, he should have displayed some angst. Or at least some sort of caring. Instead he only showed a desire to get along and cooperate completely.

It was a very odd situation.

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To be continued

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A/N: gawd, I can't wait for this hiatus to be over!


	5. Five Fingered Discount

**Chapter 5: Five Fingered Discount**

Once again, I _**must**_ thank Make-Mine-A-Kiaora (the fabulous Chris!) and Cumberland River Relic (the wonderful Hidden-First-Name!) for their beta reading of this whole story so far. They're both encouraging and guiding in their advice, much better critique partners than I am in return (sad but true!)

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My intention _had_ _been_ to hold off posting any additional chapters until I had at least the completed first draft of the story because – to be honest – I'm very nervous that I'll blow this story by forgetting to include a clue or simply allowing the story to change midstream, going off in a different direction than intended (you know what a devil Jane is – he's the kind to do just that! Anyway…). I think I've already tripped up, but let's see if I can recover. Reviews are welcome. It's how I learn.

I posted early because of a request by Music Sweetly who wants to make fans aware of E! online's "Save The Show" poll. We need to vote now and vote often. Mentalist made it to the third round but is losing to Beauty & the Beast...so go! Remove the extra spaces and replace dots and slashes ...www . eonline.c0m (slash) news / 514021 / save-one-show-2014-round-3-vote-in-the-top-10-now

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As much as I would LOVE to, I don't own the characters or the concept of The Mentalist and am making no money from writing these stories. Hope you enjoy.

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Lisbon had to grin as she watched Fischer. Once again the senior agent was relegated to tour guide duties, this time directing her passengers into their large rental vehicle.

_Good FBI Agents are hard to find, _Lisbon thought.

It didn't surprise her that Fischer made certain she retained driving responsibility. Lochlan sat beside her in the front as navigator. Mr and Mrs Laduree settled into the first row bench seat, taking the entire space even though it could have accommodated at least one more. The body guard and three assistants took the bench previously used by Cho, while Cho and Lochlan's junior partner Steve Chase settled into Jane's former bench.

As Lisbon moved to join Cho, she caught sight of the delighted grin on Jane's face and stopped.

"Agent Fischer?" she said, taking a step back but not removing her gaze from the blond consultant. "Mr. Jane and I will meet you at the police station."

"Aww, Lisbon, you're no fun…" Jane said, sounding amused despite his words.

Fischer may have still suffered from stilted thinking but in glancing over the arrangements, she interpreted the situation immediately. "Of course. Mr. Jane shouldn't be left to travel by himself." She glared at him before taking her phone out of her pocket. Between clenched teeth she added, "He might have trouble locating the right building."

"Yes, my thinking exactly."

"You're no fun either, Kim."

"I'll call my Vail PD liaison to give you a ride." She tapped and flicked over her phone menus before looking up. In a vain attempt to pin him like a butterfly to a board, she tried the glare again. "I'd hate for you to get lost."

"We could walk," Jane said. "It's not that far, and it'll give me a chance to break in my new boots."

"Stay right here." Fischer put the phone to her ear and headed for the driver's seat. "Sergeant Lucas? Agent Fischer. Two of my people need a ride to..."

Lisbon gave Cho a slight wave and closed the van door. When she turned back, Jane was looking at his boots. His bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout, like a child denied a cookie. "I wanted to try 'em out…"

"We're here to work, Jane." She glanced at the van pulling away before facing Jane completely, readying herself to deliver the usual disciplinarian lecture. Jane may insist that they're equals now – and they were – but she still felt it was her responsibility to provide some leadership.

"I know…but…" He gazed longingly toward the slopes crowded with skiers floating gracefully and not-so-gracefully over the snow. "Those conditions are nearly perfect. With a little more snow expected tonight—"

Lisbon glanced in the same direction. The activity looked like cold, hard work. Barely controlled chaos at sub-freezing temps. With feet trapped on two long boards. The shudder through her was irrepressible.

"What do you think is going on with Carrie?" Lisbon asked, knowing she had to redirect him or he'd become enthralled, then obsessed with the idea of hitting the slopes. That usually led to his giving her the slip. "Why the elaborate deception?"

It worked. He turned his eyes back to her, the penetrating blue-gray gaze staring deeply into hers. God, she loved his eyes, whether with his common twinkle of mischief or like now when lit with his love of a good intellectual challenge.

At least she hoped that was what was going on in that head of his. It was a hard call some days, even for her who knew him better than anyone.

"Come on, Lisbon. We'll walk to the police station so we can have some privacy."

"But-"

"It's right over there a bit. We'll arrive before the Vail squad car even leaves the station."

He stepped away, forcing her to follow.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?"

She rolled her eyes. She hated when he did that. A man with his IQ should never play dumb. It was so irritating.

"What's your theory about Carrie Laduree?"

He shrugged, almost in time with the peculiar two-beat stride that his stiff-soled boots forced on him.

"I don't quite know, yet."

"But you have your suspicions."

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Well…yeah… but…"

"What are they? Share."

He held her back a moment when they approached a crosswalk, stopping to check traffic before stepping into the clear intersection.

"I'm not sure exactly. She set this whole thing up to…I don't know. Get her parents' attention? Neither one of them give a damn about her much."

"Yes, that was the conclusion I drew. Two very cold, very self-involved parents historically unconcerned with the welfare of their daughter."

"Her father didn't even know what her college major was."

"Really?" Jane asked in surprise.

"He referred to her and Logan as being Computer Majors, instead of Information Science Majors."

Jane hummed lightly under his breath before abruptly tugging Lisbon off the main sidewalk onto a trail of boot-trodden snow. It led between the trees into the woods.

"Where are we going?"

"Shortcut."

She stopped, planting her feet both figuratively and literally.

"This is Colorado. What about bears?"

"Hibernating," he said. He made a little gesture with one hand while the other pressed lightly at the small of her back. "This is the safest time of the year to walk in the woods. Well…except for the moose who don't hibernate, so…"

"You first then," she said, removing her Glock from the holster under her blazer and slipping it into a pocket of her down coat. "Since you seem to know so much about it."

"No, no, ladies with weapons first, especially if she's armed with a subcompact semi-automatic pistol."

"Jane, you're lucky I didn't handcuff you to a ski rack. You suggested this so-called shortcut; you lead the way."

He shrugged and started down the path, occasionally stomping the edges to widen it for her. He sure seemed to love his new boots, ugly though they were.

"So Poppa Frankie miscalled her major. Silly mistake for a doting father to make, don't you think? Especially if he's paying the tuition bills. What else did you get from the interview?"

"General unease. A slight desperation to sound like model parents. An overall lack of connection. Even Cho didn't care much for their answers."

"How could you tell?" Jane chuckled. "Did he crack a scowl?"

Lisbon laughed too and proceeded to explain about Cho's little test.

"That's our Cho." He glanced back at her with a huge grin. "Our kids are all grown up now, Momma Lisbon. Learning tricks on their own."

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting at his back. "You can be his daddy. I'm only old enough to be a big sister."

Again Jane laughed, continuing over the trampled path.

"Of course, Agent Lisbon. Your perpetual youth shines through with a warm glow."

She was almost certain he was being sarcastic. Yet…he sounded strangely sincere. What the hell did that mean? Having no answer, she said nothing.

The dense pine forest soon dampened the low buzz of the crowded ski area behind them, and all Lisbon could hear was the crunch of the snow under foot. Jane's two-beat stride was muffled into a soft rhythm sounding vaguely like a heartbeat.

"Lisbon…I think there is something sinister about this situation. The underlying tension is-"

A large body crashed through the underbrush, causing snow to cascade from branches above. Lisbon pulled Jane behind her as she drew her weapon. Light tan fur trimmed with dark brown fur disappeared into the trees.

"It was just an elk," Jane said, evidently amused at her reaction if his tone of voice was any indication. "A little jumpy, my dear?"

She took a deep breath, pausing a moment to assess what she'd done on pure instinct. The Glock was in her hand and the safety was off. The other hand had come up to steady her aim while bracing for discharge. Blinking rapidly, she reset the safety and slipped it back into her jacket. That was when her elbow bumped something.

Jane. He'd stepped up close behind her. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck, brushing through her hair. Damn him. He got all intimate and sexy at the worst possible times! But when they went out to dinner or see a movie? He shut down on her. What was his damned problem?

"Next time I'll let it bite you," she said, turning to face him.

The warm glee on his face was adorable as he brushed snow from her hair with a gentle touch. Her gaze darted to his lips, undirected.

"Elk don't bite people," he said. Then he pecked her on the lips and turned back toward the trail ahead.

Stunned, she brought her hands to her mouth. How dare he? They were working!

"Hey!" she said, hurrying after him.

"Of course I understand why you'd be nervous," he said, acting like he hadn't just kissed her. "What, with the possibility that Mashburn might show up now that he knows you're in Vail. Who knows what could happen? Naturally, he'll remember what you once meant to him, and now that you're staying at his house…"

"What-? Jane, I am not nervous."

"You are, you know."

"I'm not! And I never meant anything to him."

"No? Then I read him completely wrong."

"You must have. Or maybe you're lying. And seriously? Staying at his house? I think you made that up as well."

Still walking, Jane dug into his pocket and brought out his phone. Tapping it, he suddenly stopped.

"Oh! Another message from Walter. _I can be there by the 6__th__. Hope you're still in town._ Lovely. It will be nice to see him again."

"Jane, knock it off. You didn't really contact Mashburn."

He turned to stare at her, holding out his phone so she could see the display.

Clear as the sense of mischief on Jane's face, the text message exchange filled the screen with little icons showing Mashburn's cocky, grinning face.

"Damn…" The air left her lungs in a rush, leaving her emptied and hollow.

"Not to fear, Lisbon," Jane said, spinning around and continuing his march up the trail. He called back to her, glee in his voice. "We'll have this case wrapped up long before then. If things go as planned, we'll be done by this time tomorrow."

* * *

The tension at the police station was as thick as NTSB investigators at a plane crash site. Lisbon couldn't imagine how it got so bad without Jane's presence as first-class instigator.

The Ladurees were nowhere to be seen. However, there were a series of offices along the far wall. One of them, a glass-walled conference room, was closed and being guarded by a uniformed officer.

"What's going on?" Lisbon asked as Fischer hurried over.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. You weren't where you were supposed to be."

"I know a shortcut," Jane grinned.

"I can just imagine." Fischer curled her lip slightly when she looked at him. To Lisbon she said, "We found out more about the truck. It indeed has West Virginia plates."

She turned slightly, indicating for them to follow where she led into an office two doors over from the closed conference room. As she shut the door, she gestured for them to sit.

"One of the Vail patrolmen was off-duty last night, keeping his daughter company at the end of her shift at one of the gas stations on the edge of town, when a tall, dark-haired Caucasian male came in right before ten." Fischer went around the desk and bent over toward the computer, clicking the mouse. "He stuck in Officer Blake's mind because of his thick 'hillbilly' accent, his unusual purchase of three packs of gum and five packs of condoms, and the crude comment he made to Blake's daughter about being willing to share his purchase. When Blake told the man his daughter was only just seventeen, the man laughed and said sarcastically that where he came from, most people figured that was marrying age."

Fischer turned the monitor for them to see security footage of fueling pumps of a gas station, prominently featuring the view of the front of a suspension-modified, dark green Chevy extended cab pickup.

"No front plate," Jane said, leaning forward to look. "West Virginia is one of nineteen states that doesn't require one."

"Neither do New Mexico nor Kansas, and they're both closer," Fischer said. "But just wait."

A tall white guy swaggered to the vehicle, tossed a bag in the back and climbed in. The view switched to the back just as the truck started to pull away. It showed a bed full of snow…

And a West Virginia vanity plate "LUCKY ME".

"Oh, clever," Lisbon said. "Let's commit a crime driving a vehicle with easily remembered plates."

Fischer chuckled. "Yes, that's exactly what happened with Officer Blake. Apart from wanting to assault the man for his lewd suggestion to his under-aged daughter, Blake had no problem remembering the plate he saw as the truck pulled out of the gas station."

"I'm assuming there is interior video as well, so we have a face to go with the ID and license plate?" Jane asked.

"What I have is even better."

With a few taps of the keys, Fischer brought up a record, featuring a good looking young man. His thick brown curls sitting on his head in a rowdy mess and the cynical twist to his expression practically shouted "badass" to Lisbon. His deep blue eyes held a gleam of contempt for authority.

On the wall behind him, hand-drawn height lines using a sharpie marker stretched across the white paint, indicating the person was at least six foot two. Lisbon recognized a small-town police department mug shot. Cannon River used the same type of half-ass system before she arrived and tightened up protocol. A slight wave of nostalgia overcame her until Fischer's matter-of-fact voice cut through her memories.

"Haydon Smythe, 23, of Buena Vista, Virginia. Raised with his grandmother Matilda Smythe, also of Buena Vista, after his mother died fifteen years ago of a drug overdose. No father listed. Smythe has an extensive criminal record, juvenile mischief, B&E, public intoxication, criminal trespassing, possession-"

"A low-level troublemaker," Jane said with a shrug. "Thought of himself as a big snapping turtle in a pond of minnows. Pushed the local police around enough that they started bringing him in on general principal."

Fischer took a deep breath, reining in her impatience at being interrupted.

"That's what it sounds like. Familiar situation to you?"

Lisbon stifled a chuckle. Jane ignored both of them.

"I take it Officer Blake recognized this individual?"

"We haven't shown it to him yet." She clicked the mouse and the view changed to the quickie-mart camera view. As Fischer flickered through a series of images of Smythe at the cashier to his standing next to the security height ruler sticker at the door, she paused again at the view with the cashier. "Chewing gum and condoms."

"So, he anticipates having a lot of time alone with Carrie," Jane said. "Well, we'll see if we can't change his plans."

"What?" Fischer asked, straightening and staring.

"Did you manage to get the parents' cellphones?"

"Uh…er, yes. Cho is working with Wiley right now, analyzing the call history."

"Splendid. Wiley's a good kid; almost as good as my old friend Van Pelt."

Lisbon found herself nodding.

"Oh, and another thing about Smythe. His social comes back showing current employment at Skelly's Tavern in-"

"Lexington, Virginia," Jane said. "Same city as Washington & Lee University. So this is our friend Badass. He can't date Carrie on Fridays and Saturdays because he's working either as a bartender or a bouncer, and she's keeping up appearances with Wells to keep her parents from getting too riled."

"Not that they're inclined to notice," Lisbon said.

"No, they're not, are they?" Fischer said

There was a light tap at the door. Fischer shut off the monitor. "Yes?"

Cho entered, closing the door behind him. "Have a nice walk, Jane?"

"Oh, yes, although Lisbon was going to go elk hunting without a license."

It took a lot of will power for Lisbon not to hit him.

"I have some information about Smythe," Cho said, handing a paper to Fischer. "Apparently he has a cousin who lives in Denver."

"And this cousin owns a hunting cabin, right?" Jane asked.

"Yes."

"In town here?" Lisbon asked, puzzled.

"Just outside of town," Jane said. "On an unplowed road up the mountain somewhere. There's snow jammed into body parts of the truck, like it has been driving in deep snow. I didn't see it in the resort video, but it's as clear as day there." He gestured toward the computer monitor.

"This is Smythe's phone record," Fischer said, glancing over the report in her hand. "Looks like he's been calling his cousin a great deal recently. We've put the cousin under surveillance, just in case."

"Yes, don't contact him," Jane said. "It's likely he'll just call his cousin to ask what's going on."

"How did you get the warrant for the phone records so quickly?" Lisbon asked.

"Lochlan has a couple really good connections, one in particular who isn't squeamish about catching kidnappers of politicians' kids."

"And speaking of politicians," Jane began, "what did you find on the confiscated phones?"

Cho stopped to stare at Jane.

"You know what I found."

A smug smile spread across Jane's face. "You found Haydon Smythe's phone number as an outbound call."

"From Congresswoman Laduree?" Fischer asked. The hollows of her triangular face deepened as she struggled against her mouth dropping open.

"From Frankie Laduree," Jane said.

The duet of surprised outcry sounded from Fischer and Lisbon. Cho continued to stare in silence. Jane settled back in his chair.

"I'm sure there were two or three this morning. Right around eight o'clock Eastern time or so?"

Cho consulted the paper in his hand. "Eight-fifteen and Eight-twenty-two."

"And about a dozen calls from Bobbi to Frankie during the course of the night, starting around midnight, with the last one at eight-fourteen….No, don't ask him about it, Kim."

Fischer practically skidded in her hurried path to the door.

"Let him think we don't know of his duplicity. It's better if he thinks he's undetected."

"How do I do that and put him under guard at the same time? Because we're taking him into custody. We have to."

Jane pursed his lips thoughtfully and then shook his head.

An epiphany struck Lisbon.

"Mashburn's," she said quickly. "It will be an elegant detention."

"Excellent suggestion," Jane said. "Yes, we can tell them that we're making them comfortable as possible while waiting for the ransom note. C'mon, let's go."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. Sixth Sense

**Chapter 6: Sixth Sense**

_Although there are some of you who find the procedural 'dull' or 'boring', it IS the premise of the show, primarily how Jane utilizes his mentalist skills to solve a crime. It's part of why Lisbon is so attracted to Jane, he uses his abilities in a noble pursuit (although looking like Adonis certainly doesn't hurt!) I'm writing this to help me get through the hiatus as well as stretch my writing skills (such as they are) to include mystery writing._

_As much as I would LOVE to, I don't own the characters or the concept of The Mentalist and am making no money from writing these stories. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

It wasn't a simple condo as Jane had indicated.

Lisbon gaped through the windshield as they waited for the gates to open at Jane's command at the security key pad. The house up the short driveway was a red cedar shake mansion of epic proportions, with every pane gleaming with warm, welcoming light.

The squad car pulled through and to the side in order to let the shuttle van pass. Jane resumed his place in the back seat.

"Holy crap," Lisbon said. "Didn't Walter say it was a condo?"

"Just because it's not part of another building, doesn't mean it's not a condo," Jane said.

"What do you mean?"

"He probably doesn't own the land this building sits on, just the construction itself."

"They do that?"

"All the time. I'm not entitled to the Malibu freehold, just the buildings. Well…the remaining building, anyway. The land is on leasehold. I think it might be the same thing here, but Walter just calls it a condo to keep it clear."

"Clear? That's more confusing."

Jane peered at the front of the building, all the way up to the roofline.

"I'm inclined to agree. He didn't send a picture obviously and I hadn't quite expected this."

The double-door entrance opened and an older gentleman in a suit stepped out, speaking to Fischer who had stepped out of the white van which contained the rest of their group.

"Ooo, a butler." Jane grinned. "This is going to be fun."

Inwardly Lisbon groaned as a wave of pity flooded her. She resolved to defend the man from the worst of Jane's mischief.

"Worry about your promise to have this case closed by tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh, I will, my dear. I just need one thing from our darling Kim."

Before she could respond, he opened the squad car door and exited while the vehicle was still rolling to a stop.

_Darling Kim? That…that…jerk._

She gave the accompanying Vail officer a tight smile as she opened her door. "Thank you, Officer Duras. Would you pop the trunk so I can get my bag?"

"Oh, I'll bring it in for you, agent. I've always wanted to see the inside of one of these twenty-million dollar homes anyway."

She choked so loudly, Jane stopped and looked back at her. Concern flooded his face. With a wave of her hand to assure him, she cleared her airway and joined Duras at the rear of the car. The officer wouldn't allow her to take any of the bags, although when Jane came back, Duras handed the consultant his satchel.

"Are you okay, Lisbon?"

"Yes. Did you know this house is worth $20 million dollars?"

Jane looked at the façade critically. "Given its location? Yes, I'd say that's about right."

Then he smiled at Lisbon, the smile that accompanied cheeky teasing. "I could delay solving the case until Mashburn arrives. Maybe he'll propose and you could move in full-time."

"Shut up, Jane. What do you take me for? That's an insult."

He chuckled and led the way to the door where the butler stood waiting.

"Mr. Jane?"

"Yes, I'm Jane. Are you Marshall? Nice to meet you."

"And you as well, sir. Walter wants you all to feel welcome. Please make yourselves at home. I've started a fire in the rec room, straight through the foyer." He inclined his head toward Lisbon. "Agent Lisbon? You are especially welcome. Please come this way."

Lisbon's embarrassment about the butler's familiarity was forgotten as she entered the foyer of the grand home. It didn't have a soaring ceiling or imposing marble stairs, but the entrance was warm and welcoming with rustic tumbled stone and bare-timber construction, very 'national park lodge' in its impressions. It was different from the modern architecture and clean line design she usually associated with Mashburn, a complete opposite, in fact. She supposed it had a lot to do with the expectations of the region.

A thirty-something man who looked like Marshall took their luggage from Jane and Dumas.

"Mr. Jane, my son will take your bags to your rooms. Walter gave instructions on where to put you. He had not, however, indicated so many were staying—"

"Oh, they're not all bedding down here," Jane grinned. "Although I suppose we could double up some of the rooms. For example, I could sleep on the couch in Lisbon's room…"

"There are six bedrooms," Marshall said quietly, "and I'd be willing to give up my room if it is required, sir. I've found the sofa in the study to be quite comfortable in the past. My son lives in Frisco, just up the highway, so if worst came to worst, I could stay with him and commute."

Jane's eyelids drooped just a little and his expression went completely flat. Lisbon didn't get to see it very often, and if she didn't watch for it, it was easy to miss. This was his surprised look. His shocked look would have entailed drooping eyelids and a huge grin.

Oh yes, she was getting to know him.

"I'd been misinformed," Jane said. "I understood this to be a smaller house. Well, no matter, Marshall. I only talked to Walter about Agent Lisbon and myself, Agents Fischer and Cho. Where these other people are staying…well, that's Fischer's problem."

"I will call Walter about it, but I'm sure he will generously extend his hospitality to everyone, especially at a busy ski season like this. There are large sofas in the great room and the rec room, if sleeping arrangements are—"

"Lisbon! Jane!" Fischer came through an archway from another room. "The ransom demand has arrived on Mrs. Laduree's phone. It's a text."

Jane placed his hand on Lisbon's waist and gave her a slight push toward Fischer. As he did, he leaned toward her ear.

"You go ahead," he told her. "Make certain Wiley tracks the origins of that message but don't believe the information he shares. It's a red herring."

Lisbon stared at his know-it-all smile but especially the hardness in his eyes.

"I'll finish up arrangements here." He gave her another soft shove. "Go keep our senior agent out of trouble."

Lisbon nodded and hurried toward Fischer, pulling her aside. Both of them glanced around to make certain the area was clear before speaking.

"This doesn't make any sense," Fischer asked, her voice scratchy as she whispered. "If Carrie left willingly, why is there an actual ransom demand?"

"She must be trying to get serious attention from her parents by faking the kidnapping."

"Well, she's crossed the line, now, if this is just an elaborate joke. Do you think her father just thought they'd run away together because he knew she was dating this guy? If so, why hasn't he come forward with that information? Because his wife would disapprove?"

"I don't know. And we can't ask him without letting him know we know."

"He seemed genuinely surprised by the ransom demand. According to Cho's information, neither of his calls to Smythe were picked up and Laduree didn't stay on the line long enough to leave a voicemail."

"Do we have a trace?" Lisbon asked.

"Wiley is working on it now. He'll text me when he has any info."

"Okay. I have the feeling that Badass isn't going to do something so stupid as to send a message from his personal phone."

"Yes, I suspect it'll be a burner phone."

Fischer's gaze darted to Lisbon's shoulder, looking puzzled. As Lisbon started to turn, her cheek struck Jane's nose before he leaned back.

"Why, Lisbon! If I'd known you wanted me to kiss you, I would have stalled our trek through the woods."

Then he smiled, his sweet bottom lip growing fuller, his gorgeous eyes twinkling like those of a devil full of the promise to play. _Damn him._

He looked at Fischer, his expression shifting into smugness.

"And Kim? The message is not coming from where you think it is. When Wiley texts back, don't give it away. It's not real."

Then he withdrew, strolling into the rec room where Mr. Laduree was pacing and wringing his hands. Lisbon and Fischer followed.

"Five million dollars! Where the hell are we going to get five million dollars? By tomorrow morning!"

Mrs. Laduree didn't bother to hide her sneer as she pointed to the leather club chair opposite her in front of the fireplace. "Oh, sit down, Franklin! That's not a problem at all and you know it."

The spidery, stoop-shouldered man threw himself into the seat as instructed. He stared into the fire and heaved a sigh.

"I wonder if that daughter of yours is even kidnapped," the congresswoman said. "She's such a self-centered, dramatic little snot, something she gets from you. She could be making this up just to drag attention to herself."

Mr. Laduree stared at his wife a moment. Lisbon wondered at the expression of sickness that washed over him.

"How dare y—"

"It's entirely possible," Jane interjected. "This whole kidnapping thing may just be a ruse set up by a rambunctious teenager."

He turned to Fischer, all the while digging into his inside pocket.

"Agent Fischer? I have a splendid way to test the theory."

"How?"

"Let's not answer the demand."

Everyone gaped at Jane, even Lochlan's junior partner Steve Chase, who was in the process of connecting a cellphone to a laptop. Instead of explaining, Jane took a deck of playing cards from his pocket.

"Anyone up for a game of bridge? To pass the time?"

"Jane, how does not responding test your—"

A buzz from the cellphone in Fischer's hand interrupted her question. She looked down and her jaw dropped.

"Agent Fischer!" Jane commanded.

She looked at him in shock, her gaze wavering to either side of him a little as though stopping herself from looking where she really wanted to.

"Do you want to play bridge or not?" he asked in a friendly voice.

"This is ridiculous!" Mrs. Laduree rose to her feet and crossed to Jane. "You're a fool, the complete buffoon, and I see how you're in charge of this troop of clowns. I demand you be removed from this case."

"Oh…you don't want that," Jane said, a smile playing on his lips as he turned away.

As he drew attention toward himself, spouting platitudes about the public good and years of fighting crime, Lisbon stepped closer to Fischer who showed her the text.

_Ransom demand originated from 703-555-2339, a mobile unit registered to Laduree, Franklin._

Lisbon grabbed Fischer's arm and pulled her from the room.

"Jane said more than once that it's not what it seems," she said quickly. "If he's so sure, he must have figured something out that he hasn't yet shared. Play along. He's setting his trap. Just…play along."

"Agent Fischer!"

The congresswoman stomped from the rec room, glowering as she stopped before the two agents.

"I demand my phone back. I'm going to personally call Director Comey in Washington and have you all removed from the case. It may be true that I don't care much for Carrie, but my family will not be manhandled like this…with-with-with that…idiot making a mockery of this crisis!"

"Ma'am…I called Director Comey. He has complete faith in Mr. Jane's ability to get your daughter back and is supportive of our efforts to maximize Mr. Jane's talents. We've gone to great lengths to get his schedule cleared to attend this case."

"Give me my phone. I want to hear it from him directly."

"Ma'am, I am very sorry but I cannot. Because the ransom note was delivered on it, we consider it evidence. We can't relinquish it until we've verified the authenticity of the message, where it originated, who sent it…We will return the phone to you when we're certain we have finished with it. And since we have to entertain the possibility of an insider, we must maintain radio silence. We cannot return the phones of your husband, your body guard or any of your personal assistants either."

The short blonde woman growled in frustration and returned to the rec room. Rolling her eyes, Fischer followed. Lisbon went as well, not wanting to miss a moment. She had to hand it to Fischer. She'd really laid it on thick. Some of it was truth, too. After all, Fischer had used contractions.

Lisbon pulled out her pocket notepad and scribbled "We need to remove the batteries from their phones just in case." When she showed the note, Fischer tore the sheet from the book and passed it to Chase who nodded and went to work removing batteries and plugging into external power sources.

"Mr. Jane? Would you join me out here please?"

Jane looked at Fischer from the side table where he was demonstrating a magic trick for the three personal assistants. He gestured over the cards and smiled at the pretty young women before turning to join Fischer and Lisbon.

Fischer's voice cracked as she struggled not to yell at him.

"I want you to stay away from the Ladurees for a while. Go unpack. Go…do…whatever. Just give me a chance to calm things down in here."

"You should get Lisbon to talk to them," he said, cheeky and carefree. "She's very good with calming upset people."

"Go," Lisbon said forcefully.

Jane held up his hands and scrunched his shoulders. "All right, all right! Geez! No need to shout."

He pushed past them and exited the room. However, instead of watching him go up the stairs out of the foyer, Lisbon saw him turn left, flash a cheeky grin at her and disappear from sight.

_Crap. That can only mean more trouble._

* * *

It was a strange tap dance over and around the ire of the power couple. Lisbon was impressed how well Fischer pulled it off, somehow managing to keep them from chewing her head off and castrating the agents from the Denver office. Still, it was kinda nice that it wasn't her job anymore.

The Ladurees didn't get their phones back. Nor did they attempt to snatch them from Agent Chase as he watched for incoming messages. Things grew calm enough that even the assistants and the body guard became absorbed in a few rounds of bridge. Lisbon half-wondered if Fischer knew hypnosis.

After forty minutes, Jane wandered back into the room wearing a thoughtful expression. The hint of determination on his face sent a chill through Lisbon.

"Agent Kimmy, do you have a moment? And you, Agent Lisbon?"

_Kimmy_? As the two agents followed him out of the rec room, Lisbon wondered if maybe the altitude was starting to get to him. That was when she noticed he had changed from his dress slacks, suit coat and jacket, replacing them with what looked like windproof black pants and a blue-gray turtleneck sweater. She diverted her eyes with surprise.

Still had the goofy snowboarding boots, though.

"Are you all settled in your room?" Fischer asked when they stopped all the way across the foyer.

"Room?" Jane asked. "Oh. Uh, no I didn't bother to unpack. I just put on some longjohns I borrowed from Walter. Now I need to take Lisbon to a ski shop to get some for her too, before we set out."

"Set out?" Fischer asked.

"For where?" Lisbon asked at the same moment.

"We're taking one of Walter's snowmobiles out for a little spin," he said in matter-of-fact tone. "But first we need to buy a snowsuit for you."

"What? I'm not going out on a sno—"

Agent Chase interrupted from the rec room doorway.

"Agent Fischer, there's a text on Mr. Laduree's phone. Same number as before."

"Shit," Fischer said, grabbing Jane's and Lisbon's arms and pulling them toward the room again. "Your timing is impeccable, Jane. I honestly think you plan your day around making my life hell."

Jane flashed his grin at Lisbon but allowed himself to be dragged along.

They entered in time to hear Lochlan reading. "…unmarked bills, non-sequential fifties and hundreds by 8 AM tomorrow morning. Drop-point instructions will be sent at 5 AM."

Mrs. Laduree dropped her face into her hands.

"Dear God," Mr. Laduree mumbled. "All right, we'll do it. We'll do anything he wants."

_He? _ Lisbon thought. She locked gazes with Cho who nodded nearly imperceptibly. They had been careful not to mention Smythe specifically or anything at all indicative of how many people they suspected were involved.

"No," Jane said, tugging his arm from Fischer's grasp and crossing to Chase. "Tell the kidnappers that we can't get the money together before five tomorrow evening."

The room erupted in gasps and protests except from Lisbon and Cho. Chase looked at Lochlan who was shouting at Jane about the levels of idiocy the FBI had stooped to when they retained him as a consultant. Both Ladurees protested how their daughter would be killed. Fischer finished her gasp and stared slack-jawed at Jane a moment.

"It's not unreasonable," she said quietly. "Do it."

Lochlan and the Ladurees grew louder. Chase stared helplessly at Fischer until she nodded firmly, at which time he began to type into the laptop connected to the phone. Lisbon and Cho moved closer, as did Fischer, watching the screen for a response. Lisbon felt something warm brush her back; it was Jane looking over her shoulder.

_Fuck u, Laduree. 10 AM_

"Answer '2 PM'," Jane said.

The room went quiet as the junior agent clicked on the keys. It took nearly a minute for the answer, which Fischer read aloud.

"Hell, no! Noon. And make it 6 million."

Mrs. Laduree grew paler. Mr. Laduree stared wide-eyed, his Adam's apple bobbing like a sewing machine needle.

"Here, type this: '4 mil at 3 PM'," Jane said with a grin.

"Are you crazy?" Franklin Laduree shouted.

"Send that, send that," Jane urged.

"Do it," Fischer said.

They all stared at the screen. The time passed without a response. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

Fischer's phone tinkled lightly.

"Damn. It's from Wiley. He says the recent messages are untraceable."

"Ah ha!" Jane said. "I was right."

"About what?" Laduree asked.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. He wasn't going to tell them or anyone else. He just said that to mess with people. Typical Jane.

A message flashed on the laptop. "5 mil at 2 PM"

"Answer 'Proof of life at 1pm' holding the CNN webpage."

The response in a moment was simply 'Noon, with webpage and drop-point instructions'.

"Ah ha!" Jane exclaimed softly. "Say 'okay'."

He grabbed Lisbon around the shoulders and turned her away from Chase's workstation as he spoke in her ear.

"It's imperative that you agree. Either you come with me or I go alone."

Lisbon pulled back and stared at him. The playful gleam was gone, replaced by the fiery gaze of the earnest hunter, ready to pounce on the quarry.

"Where?" she whispered

"I'll explain in a minute. Agent Fischer? Come with us."

Again they ended up in what Lisbon was starting to consider 'the FBI conference room'. This time Jane closed the door between them and the rec room.

"Lisbon and I need to go up to that hunting cabin and get Carrie to admit she was never in any danger. If the FBI raided the cabin with full SWAT, she'd simply claim she was held against her will. She's too clever to have communicated any of her plans to Smythe via email so we have to get eyewitness proof to prevent it from being his word against hers."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I have a plan. Follow me."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	7. Seventh Level of Heaven? Or Hell?

**Chapter 7: Seventh Level of Hell or Seventh Heaven?**

**SAVE OUR SHOW! www . eonline . com news / 519171/save-one-show-2014-we-re-down-to-the-final-2-vote-for-the-winner-now**

_This chapter should be rated M because of language. The last scene drops all sorts of F bombs. So sorry._

_As usual, I have to thank **Cumberland River Relic** and **Make-Mine-A-Kiaora** for their support and assistance as beta readers. Thank you. 'Sorry that I posted more than you were given to read.'_

_Also as usual, the disclaimers (I don't own the Mentalist) apply! Cuz they're true!_

_UNUSUAL for me is that I posted Chapter 6 and Chapter 7 at the same time. Go figger..._

* * *

Lisbon wasn't sure how Jane talked Fischer into allowing it, even though she'd sat through the entire private briefing with Abbott on the phone. Maybe it was approved because Mashburn's snowmobile was bugged with a GPS tracking unit with satellite data feed. Maybe it was because they would both be wired for sound that they could turn on once the snow machine was 'broken down' and quiet.

Or maybe it was because Fischer gave over her Beretta as a backup weapon to Lisbon's own Glock. Plus they'd both seen Jane slip his small derringer into the padding of his snowboarding boot.

While Lochlan's team outfitted the snowmobile, Jane and Lisbon hurried to a ski shop to buy better outdoorwear: snow pants, a Goretex ski coat to go over her down jacket , waterproof gloves, extra-warm hat and insulated boots, all expensed to the FBI as part of the operation to solve the crime.

As they made their purchase with the cashier, a display of novelty pins caught Lisbon's eye. She chuckled and took one down.

"Here, add this to our purchase. It sure is you."

On a plain white background the round pin read, "ASK ME ABOUT MY ABILITY TO ANNOY COMPLETE STRANGERS."

Jane laughed. "Not that I need to advertise. People find out soon enough."

Then he gave her a warm smile as he pinned it to his pea coat. "It's fun. Thank you."

By the time they returned, the snowmobile was ready to go, not only with the surveillance equipment but also a topo map marked with a faked destination a few miles beyond the hunting cabin.

They donned two helmets that Mashburn had available as Marshall moved the machine for them to the snowmobile trail behind the property. Jane and Lisbon followed while Fischer shouted a single instruction. "Just get what we need. We'll be close for the arrest." Then she tapped on the button Lisbon gave him and made a "thumbs down" gesture. Jane smiled through the face shield of his helmet and unhooked the pin from his jacket. He held it to Lisbon.

"Put this in your pocket for me." He shouted to be heard through the muffling effect of the headgear.

He climbed on the machine and sat still. Despite his whole face being covered, she still saw the crinkle at the corner of his eye as he grinned inside the helmet, the Jane Grin of Mischief. She didn't believe for more than a moment that he had experience driving a snowmobile, no matter how sincere he sounded in the meeting, so she was leery when she saw that particular smile. Still, she had no choice if this bust was going to work, so she climbed onboard behind him.

"Get closer," he shouted.

God, it was awkward. The thought of what it meant brought a lump to her throat, and the heat of indignation and embarrassment poured down her cheeks all the way to her neck. She spread her knees and moved her hips closer, pressing her chest to his back and resting her hands on his hips. Her brief squawk filled her helmet when he pulled her arms around his waist, stacking one of her hands on top of the other. The machine made a single jerking movement as they started moving. It forced a swear word from her when their helmets tapped and she grabbed him tighter in surprise. Then they picked up a little speed and traveled effortlessly down the trail.

She had to hand it to him; their progress was smooth and safe. He slowed at the appropriate times, stopped at all the trail stop signs and didn't follow too closely when they caught up to another machine. At the turn onto the logging road, he looked both ways before proceeding. There were no more jerky starts. He'd learned the torque on the machine and operated it like an expert.

She found herself starting to enjoy the trip a little. The machine was powerful – no doubt about it. It hummed along nicely through the wooded path. Peeking over his shoulder, she saw that the road had been plowed at some point, although not recently. Jane stuck with the existing track left by other snowmobiles. The only time she got nervous was when he patted her hands clasped over his belly in a reassuring manner. It seemed to her that he really should keep both hands on the handlebars.

Without undue hesitation, he made the turnoffs heading toward the hunting cabin where they suspected Smythe and Laduree were holed up. At one point Jane patted her hands again and pointed to the road ahead. It took a moment for her to realize the deep snow was unbroken except for a two-track path driven by a high-clearance vehicle with aggressive tires. Even the snowmobiles didn't go there. She made a "thumbs up" to indicate she understood. He held her thumb for a moment, almost like a hug, before placing her hand back on his stomach.

Another mile up the road, Jane slowed then stopped. He pointed to the side of the road that was churned up by a pickup or 4x4 making U-turns. Jane lifted his face shield and shouted to her "Good cell reception here, I bet. They can't make the calls from the cabin. That's why they need time to send proof of life, to get here. We must be getting close."

Lisbon nodded and gave him a little squeeze. "So, let's go!"

He flashed a smile and gave her a "thumbs up" before dropping his face shield again.

They rode at regular speed for a while longer. The hum of the machine and the warmth of his body lulled her into an uncommon peace, considering they were undercover and on their way to facing a couple of defrauding criminals.

Carrie was a brat, no doubt about it, and would probably have a tantrum when she got caught. Lisbon pictured crocodile tears as the only Laduree child told 'Daddy' how sorry she was that she ran off and that she'd never do it again. 'Daddy' would probably tell her he forgives her, and then try to get the congresswoman to flex her governmental muscle to have the charges dropped. Well, when Jane explained to Mrs. Laduree what he suspected had happened, the little old political powerhouse would be in no mood to get Father or Daughter out of being punished, no matter what Mother might feel about Jane personally. Yes, both of the Ladurees and Haydon Smythe were going to jail. Lisbon would see to that.

However, Smythe was a mostly unknown factor. It was irrelevant whether his elderly grandmother was a loving guardian while he grew up; he had no mother or father and that made a big difference. State records said he moved from his grandmother's house for the first time when he was eighteen, probably kicked out since it was right after an arrest for petty theft. He moved back and forth between a cousin's house in West Virginia and his grandmother's in Virginia several times. He had an extensive arrest record, although it was all minor stuff and seemed to occur in between a variety of jobs. If Lisbon employed Jane's method of thinking, she'd conclude that Smythe was perhaps somewhat intelligent but easily bored. It was a classic case of idle hands being the Devil's Lego set, or whatever that stupid cliché was.

The real question was what Smythe would do when he found out that Carrie was probably planning on throwing him under the bus if she could. If Jane was right, Carrie would ditch him quicker than the short end of a match. That unknown made Lisbon uneasy. She moved her hand to pat lightly on the unfamiliar extra weight of the Beretta at the small of her back before touching her old friend the Glock 26 in her holster, both hidden beneath her down coat. She wrapped her arm around Jane again and sighed. How on earth were they going to get Carrie to confess?

Lisbon was shaken from her thoughts. Jane had throttled off, slowing suddenly. He turned as they came to a halt, looking around carefully. Then he stood on the running boards, pulling out of her arms. When he gestured with his head, she nodded and dismounted. He did as well, lifting her face shield for her before lifting his.

"It looks like the truck turns off ahead," he said, putting his face close. "We need to break down here."

Her nose caught a whiff of cool mint tea and she sighed. Despite the long day they'd experienced, he still somehow managed to have fresh breath. How the hell did he do that? She was certain she smelled like the handful of rye crackers she'd managed to snag at Mashburn's.

"Understood. Do you need help?"

It was a dumb question, but she had to ask it anyway. She knew someone on the FBI Denver team had instructed Jane how to emulate a breakdown. Acting quickly, Jane opened the plastic cover over the front of the machine and used the tool provided to 'attack' the engine. There was a loud thump and then Jane mumbled something she didn't catch. He climbed onto the machine and started it up. Watching the rubber track, he revved the engine.

The machine didn't move. It had worked. Even if Badass Smythe knew anything about snowmobiles, the Denver agent assured them it couldn't be fixed without the replacement belt.

After turning off the engine once more, Jane removed his helmet and hung it off the handgrip.

"And now we wait," he said, pulling his knit cap from his pocket. "Let's hope they find us before it gets dark."

Lisbon glanced around at the dark pines as she moved to take off her helmet. A shudder raced through her frame. Why hadn't it occurred to her that there was a good possibility they'd be out in the snowy wilderness after dark? Damn it. Why did she listen to him?

Jane smiled at her and patted the saddle of the snowmobile.

"Conserve some of your heat. Sit down. You'll be warmer."

"I'm not cold," she said. And she wasn't. At the ski shop, Jane had been very thorough in his efforts to outfit her. No, the shudder through her was definitely fear. Or at least, dread.

"Lisbon, sit."

Putting action to word, Jane planted his ass sidesaddle on the machine and pulled her next to him. She grunted and turned so she was still hip-to-hip with him but facing the opposite direction.

"We're supposed to be watching for help and rescue, right?" she mumbled.

"Right you are," he said, sounding a little condescending. "And put on your hat. You need to conserve heat. Seriously."

"It covers my ears. I want to be able to hear."

"There will be nothing to hear for a while."

She rolled her eyes. "You're treating me like a child, Jane. That's _my_ job, to treat _you_ like a child."

He chuckled and bumped shoulders with her.

"It's about time you let me take care of you."

The grunt she let out came all by itself. He grinned at the sound but a thought wiped it from his lips.

"I mean it, Teresa. Let me know if you get cold. I can start the machine and we can get a little heat off of it."

"Honestly, I'm fine. And if I get cold, I'll start dreaming of Austin sunshine. Or your descriptions of hot South American beaches and humidity thick enough to slice with Minelli's old pocket knife."

They laughed together and Jane leaned against her.

"Speaking of which, I'm going to have to take you to my little village someday. You would love it."

She looked at him skeptically.

"I doubt that," she said. "Going to some heavenly tropical island, sitting around sipping fruity drinks, not chasing some bad guy would probably kill me."

"Well, they have tequila, so at least the fruity drink could be spiked."

It was the exact wrong thing to say, causing her to stiffen. She knew he sensed it.

"Or not," he added softly. "I didn't indulge much myself while I was there. At least, not towards the end. At first, yes. Quite a bit, actually."

Pain washed over his face as he diverted his gaze.

"You wouldn't have recognized me, Lisbon. Rum was my painkiller of choice, rather than tequila. From the very first week that I slipped into the country, I tried every local rum, every so-called specialty drink, every variety of hard liquor in Venezuela. And I have to admit, Teresa, it helped me."

Lisbon grunted as a burn rushed through her muscles. She couldn't believe he could possibly think that.

"In what way could being shit-faced for two months be of any help to anyone?" she asked bitterly.

"It seemed to make the nightmares stop."

A cold hand clutched her heart, constricting her breathing as she fought against switching from being enraged at his flippancy about hard drinking, to feeling pity for him. It was never what he wanted.

Or needed, for that matter. Neither of them did.

"Nightmares?"

"I…I repeatedly dreamt of killing McAllister…except he kept morphing into other people."

"Really?"

Jane looked around a moment, although she wasn't sure what he was looking for.

"Well…one person mostly. You."

"What?"

She hadn't seen him hesitate like that in a long time. It was like he couldn't find the words in his unfamiliarity with truthful, honest emotions. All she could do was wait.

"The nightmares always started with that sociopathic bastard begging me to spare his life, just like what really happened. They were more like memories than dreams. I could feel his pulse under my fingers, pounding with terror as he realized that he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of his circumstances. There was no group of followers on the way to save him. His trusted acolytes had failed to stop the death that was coming to him and I felt deep satisfaction that the world was a better place for everyone…except you."

Jane looked up from his gloved hands clasped in his lap, his gaze searching the snow covered road before him. His voice was low, still hesitant with his words.

"Then the beard stubble would fade, becoming silky smooth skin. The convulsing throat fighting for one last breath would turn into your delicate, slender neck. I looked into the eyes of the corpse under me…and it would be you. I had killed you in my unyielding act of vengeance. You were dead and it was entirely my fault."

She hooked her arm in his and placed her cheek against his shoulder.

"I'm not dead, though, Jane. I survived, just like you did. We made it."

When he sighed and rested his head against hers, she squeezed his arm. It surprised her when his other hand touched her back, running in caressing circles still discernible through her coat and down sweater.

"I missed you, Lisbon," he whispered. "I tried to express how much in my letters, but I was afraid that the FBI would eventually find a way to intercept them and if I said too much, they'd start to pressure you to get to me. It turned out I was right despite my caution. I'm sorry that you got caught in the middle like that."

He stiffened, then lifted his head.

"Wait a minute. Why did you say I was drunk for two months? I never said that."

She looked at him in surprise and his all-knowing stare made her gasp. How could she have thought she could keep her sad history from him for more than a couple of months?

Not knowing how to answer, she leaned against him again, hiding her face from view.

"Wh…why did you start writing to me, Jane?"

"Why? Because… because after a while, on the nights that I didn't pass out drunk, the nightmares changed. Instead of seeing your face, I started seeing my own. I knew that keeping isolated from you was a kind of suicide, just like the hard drinking was. I realized again what I already knew, that I can't live without you, Teresa. So I started writing letters to keep me sane. It took a while to figure out how to get them to you, but it was worth it."

Again she looked at him in surprise, but instead of just wearing his sly look, his face softened with affection.

"I already told you that you mean so much to me."

Her laugh fought through a lump in her throat.

"Yeah, and then you left me stranded on a cliff."

He lifted his head back, face to the sky, and laughed too.

"Well…that was a pretty asshole thing to do, I admit. But I _did_ apologize in one of my letters…"

He shifted around, bringing his leg over the saddle so that he was sitting backward on the machine and facing her. She started to make room for him but instead he pulled her closer until her back was to his chest.

"At the time I was doing what I thought was best for you. And I was right, wasn't I? Otherwise you would be dead like Haffner and Stiles, blown to bits in McAllister's bomb."

She leaned into him and swallowed, the comfort of his solid presence allowing the lump to dissolve. Yes, he was right, but that didn't mean she'd have to like it. When he left her on that cliff, she had been certain she'd never see him alive again, and the idea terrified her at the time.

There were a lot of moments of terror during that time. When he asked for her gun in the park, she envisioned Jane getting into a gun fight with Bertram who she knew was a decent shot. And during that face-off with Abbott, she didn't know if they were all going to be killed in a hail of FBI bullets or merely arrested. Jane's last words to them – to her – were to thank them for standing up for him. The only real moment of warmth in a thoroughly bone-chilling situation.

But then he was gone. She heard the report on the FBI radio communications that Bertram was dead, that Cordero was too and there was a trail of blood out of the church… Was it his? Had he been injured and trying to get to her?

Thank God it turned out it had been McAllister's blood. She shuddered at the memory.

"Are you warm enough still? I can start the machine if you're cold…"

"I'm okay."

When she nodded, he slipped his arms around her waist, pressing her more firmly to his chest. Why didn't it feel odd?

"Teresa…I have to ask you…"

_Oh, God, he's just confirming what he already knows…_

"After I killed McAllister…and I was gone… did you…were you okay?"

"Fine." _Did that sound as pat and insincere to him as it did to me?_

Apparently 'yes' because in a cautious tone he said, "You were talking about yourself when you asked about being shit-faced for two months."

Despite expecting it, she couldn't stop the hitch in her breath. His soft sigh floated past her ear as he squeezed her in a hug and then rested his head against hers.

"Tell me what happened."

A lump formed in her throat again, her convulsive swallowing doing nothing to break it up. It only cleared when the first tear slipped from her eye.

"It…it was awful, Jane. Nobody knew what was going on, where you'd gone, who was good or bad…They were finding Blake Association members everywhere! Even the damned DMV, so they could make fake IDs and licenses whenever they needed them! And I can't tell you how many times I had to show my shoulder to people. Or how often I found myself staring at someone else's shoulder because I felt like I couldn't trust him. It was stupid and horrible and…"

With a small sniffle, she wiped her cheek and rested her arms atop his across her stomach.

"I bet short-sleeved shirts and sleeveless blouses became a fashion rage in California," he quipped lightly.

It took a moment to absorb what he'd said, but it made her laugh. Jane thinking sideways – what a common occurrence.

"They became popular with me, let me tell you." But it led to another thought and she sighed again. "But it didn't matter what I wore. I was under investigation by the FBI, for God's sake! I applied for jobs all over the country, and if I received a refusal – which was rare, by the way – it was a cold-as-ice form letter."

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Jane asked. His voice in her ear was barely a whisper and seemed to come from the other side of the universe.

"It wasn't fair, dammit! I'm a damned good cop. We stopped Red John, for God's sake. Why was I being treated like a leper? I didn't do anything wrong."

"No, you were perfect, Teresa. A force for good."

"It wasn't fair," she repeated more softly.

She could see it in front of her: the FBI interrogators, the Federal marshals, the state investigators, all taking turns grilling her about her activities regarding Red John. _Why had it taken so long to catch him if she had been trying as hard as she said? Was she certain that every effort had been made? Why didn't they arrest him before? Her files hinted at her suspicions; what took so long?_ The only way she could answer was to ask why it took the FBI _seventeen_ years to catch the Unabomber. It took only _ten_ years for her and the team to catch Red John. And besides, McAllister had been smarter than Ted Kaczynski and was only half as clinically insane.

And even after she was cleared, even after Abbott came forward and announced that she and her team were probably some of the most honest, dedicated agents in the former CBI, even after their exoneration and vindication, she still felt like a despicable low-life. Daily she was assaulted with colleagues' names in the papers, state senators were announced on the news as crooked, some small cities having whole police departments discovered as three-dot-inked. She knew so many of the people who were outed - some she even considered friends - but she'd never suspected them of being part of the largest corruption ring in the history of the United States.

What kind of detective was she? A shitty one, apparently. Couldn't see a crook if and when he shook her hand.

"I didn't see them either, Teresa," Jane said softly in her ear. "It's natural to tune out some guile on faces. Everyone is guilty of something."

Again she sniffled. Of course he read her mind. _Of course._

"Well…it didn't matter that I was innocent of crimes that half the state law enforcement was guilty of. My name had ended up in the papers, and when you looked up my name on the internet, McAllister's – the infamous Red John – popped up too. I was unhireable anywhere…"

Once more his soft sigh floated past her ear, this time accompanied by his warm breath.

"And that's when you started drinking."

_So gentle! So understanding!_ His words were simple fact but the weight of them crushed her to the bottom of her soul. For the first time since the arrival of his first exile letter, her eyes flooded with tears which poured down her face. Just like then, the inalienable fact glared at her – she had been in big trouble.

"Yes," she admitted in tones that matched his. "There were whole chunks of days where I don't remember what I did or where I was. Mostly I woke alone in my apartment, faced with cleaning puke off the floor."

"Oh god…"

She wiped her cheeks again and looked at the damp patches on her glove.

"One time I 'came to' in a hospital emergency room. Another time I woke at the neighbors. They'd found me asleep at the wheel of my car parked in my space. Apparently I'd locked my keys in my apartment. Thank god I hadn't driven anywhere. I could have killed someone. I knew that."

"Is that when you hit bottom?"

The stupidity of the question made her laugh. It was a sardonic burst, born of appreciation for her own idiocy.

"No! Do you believe it? Knowing I could have killed someone had no effect on me! I just kept on drinking like… like there was no tomorrow."

"So, when did tomorrow finally arrive?"

When _did_ tomorrow arrive? It was a very good question. Why didn't he just know the answer? Dammit, didn't he know how important he was to her?

She sat up, struggling against the hold around her waist while not escaping his hold. She turned enough to examine his face, shocked to find shiny streaks from the corners of his eyes.

"When your first letter arrived from South America," she said. "Honestly, Patrick, I was convinced that you'd killed yourself, that you'd asked yourself what you had to live for since you'd gotten your revenge. But when I realized that you lived, that you'd found a way through it all, I knew everything would be okay. You made it despite all the bullshit that had happened, so I knew that I could too. And I did. I sent out more resumes, more job applications, and after three more months, I finally got interviewed for the police chief job in Cannon River."

A smile spread across his lips, tentative at first but widening as his gaze darted all around her face.

"Teresa Lisbon, you're the strongest person I know. From four thousand miles away, you were holding me up, keeping me from ending it all, and when a simple letter arrives, you found a way to divert some of that strength inward, pulling yourself up too."

He took off his glove and caressed a tear off her cheek before giving her a soft kiss. Then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

"The hardest lie I've had to live…" he said, his voice as gentle as the alighting of a snowflake. "…is the one where I acted like I only cared for you as a friend. I don't want to live that lie anymore."

"What…what does that mean?"

The hand that took away the tear returned to smooth her hair back from her face. Then he opened his eyes.

"It means I love you, Lisbon. I have for many years."

Then he kissed her.

_Really_ kissed her. Passionately, heart-rendingly, lovingly kissed her as though the earth had opened beneath him and it would be his last chance to kiss anyone.

And not knowing if he'd deny it all later, she kissed back, just in case it was her last chance to kiss _him_.

* * *

Haydon Smythe peeked around the tree he'd been hiding behind. The people on the snowmobile didn't hear or see him, despite Smythe being certain the man had stared in his general direction. These damned mountains had very little undergrowth. Not anything like his mountains back in Virginia. There he'd be able to walk a mile without being seen. Here? He might as well be wearing blaze orange.

Damned cops! They _had_ to be. Who the hell else would be all the way up this road?

Well…the _guy_ was probably the cop. She was just part of the ploy, a bit of bling to make things more plausible. Or a rookie or something.

But they were just talking. It looked serious, 'cause the eye candy actually started crying. That was really weird. Maybe they weren't cops. Maybe they really _were_ just snowmobilers.

Had to be. All the fucking women cops he knew in Virginia and West Virginia looked like Russian bodyguards. Girl cops weren't good-looking like this slag was.

Well, if it hadn't been for that Crazy Carrie burning through logs like it came from a magic woodpile, Smythe wouldn't have known they were there at all. He'd just come out for yet another armful when he heard the revving of the engine. Rather than go back in and listen to the spoiled brat whining "I'm cooooold!", he decided to take a short walk to check it out.

Maybe it wasn't really a good idea to possibly let anyone know they were out there, although it was kinda hard to hide the fact the cabin was occupied, especially the way Carrie was stuffing wood into the stove, complaining about the lack of insulation in the place. No doubt the smoke was black and thick coming out the flue.

He shook his head with disgust. _I'm cold._ What did she expect? The hunting cabin wasn't much more than a shack. The stove was adequate to keep the water from freezing in the pot, which meant the cabin was warmer than the attic he slept in at his nana's house. In her dorm room at school, Carrie probably cranked her heat to 84 so she could run around in a thong and bra.

Actually, that was a pleasant thought. The fucking they'd done when they first got into the cabin was under the blankets because she was bitching so much about a lack of heat in the place. When the damned cunt wasn't in bed complaining about the cold, she was dressed in pretty much all her clothes, which sucked big time. Too bad. He liked seeing her cold. It made her nipples stand out, even from under her sweater.

Still, it would be better when they got the money from this bullshit situation and made their way down to Venezombia or wherever the fuck they were going. Carrie said she'd been there before and it was beautiful. With five million bucks, Hayd could probably buy himself a coupla slaves for his own personal paradise.

Or maybe they could bring the skank from the snowmobile. Plug the guy, put him in the snow behind the cabin, and no one would find him till spring, if the body wasn't turned into mountain lion food before then. What did it matter? They'd be long gone by then anyway.

Hey, maybe even put the first-class Bitch Generating Machine next to him, so Hayd wouldn't have to listen to her telling him how stupid he was for not finding a better place to hide out while waiting for the ransom pickup. Ha! Maybe it was a good thing that the snow machine seemed to break down. Yeah, Hayd could work this to his advantage.

_Whoa! Look at that! Definitely not cops! Cops don't kiss like that!_

Then Haydon figured it out. The old 'stuck on the side of the road so she'll get friendly' ploy. He'd done it himself once or twice.

Although he had to admit, he usually picked a vehicle where he could get it on with the girl, like a station wagon or a Bronco or something. Who wanted to fuck in three feet of snow?

He watched them for a while because, hell, it was getting good. No, they weren't tearing each other's clothes off, but damn, it was a hot kiss, making them intent on keeping their lips locked. At one point, the old blond guy unzipped his coat and the brunette cunt slipped her arms around his waist, all the while remaining attached at the mouth. Haydon saw their jaws pumping, figuring that their tongues were slipping and sliding around each other. A nice juicy kiss.

It was like the beginning of good porn, and the idea was definitely getting him hard. Maybe he could pull it out and do what he always did with good porn.

Better yet, maybe he could get himself a little help from the bitch with the Patagonia coat. If she was willing with that old asshole, what would she do with a young, good-looking guy like him?

Time to interrupt. He snuck back through the trees to the road to the cabin where he followed the tire tracks back to the road.

"Hey!" he said loudly.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	8. Behind the Eight Ball

**Behind the Eight Ball**

**Special thanks to _Make-Mine-A-Kiaora_ and _Cumberland River Relic_. You have no idea how much your friendship and support are valued by me!**

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**I don't own nuthin but the order of the words and the particulars of the plot. I'm writing for fun.**

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**Go vote for Save Our Show! :-)**

* * *

Jane groaned as Lisbon pulled out of his arms at the sound. His open jacket flooded with the freezing air, a terrible contrast of her wonderful warmth against his chest. Oh, to be kissing the lovely and delectable Teresa Lisbon at long last. To have her in his arms. To have her know how he feels. To have her finally accept his show of affection instead of her raising her usual shield, the one that in the past would have made kissing her almost an act of aggression by him. And she was as sweet as he expected and as passionate as he hoped.

And then that Smythe character had to show up.

_Damn. _

Lisbon looked caught and guilty, which would have been a good act if Jane didn't know she really felt that way. She should have been okay with kissing him, though. Really, it was part of their cover-story. They were supposed to be lovers on their way to a remote cabin.

He looked at Smythe walking down a tire rut in their direction. The Virginian was imposing – tall with rugged good-looks and an electric-blue stare, both much more intensive than his mug shot exhibited. His underweight coat, considering conditions, was open, exhibiting a muscular frame trapped in a gray t-shirt. Jane read from Smythe's gait that sometime in the last couple years the young man had broken his left leg and it wasn't quite set properly. Jane also read from Smythe's eyes that he'd set his sights on Lisbon.

Well, _that_ wasn't supposed to happen.

_Damn._

Jane had known that Smythe was a pig, if his comment to a seventeen-year-old gas station clerk was any indication. Clearly he objectified women, holding no respect for their abilities and even less respect for their comfort and safety.

Oh, well, Jane would have to deal with it somehow. Maybe later he could plant the suggestion in Smythe's subconscious that Lisbon had the clap or something. It would get him smacked by Lisbon but it was better than attempted rape, which this man was capable of.

Nothing for it now but to get on with the gag.

"Hey, do you know anything about snowmobiles?" he asked. "I think we broke the drive belt."

"Is that why you're stopped all the way out here? We're quite a ways from anywhere."

Hmm. Smythe's body language was clear; he didn't trust them. Not an unexpected reaction.

"We were on our way to my brother's cabin," Jane said, pointing up the road. It's just another three or four miles further."

Smythe paused for a moment, then gave a sly smile.

"Oh, yeah? You mean the one owned by Phillip Ward? Next one up?"

Jane looked appropriately puzzled. Having seen the plat survey that the local police had shared, he knew the owner of the next cabin along was named Ravencamp. The one they pretended they were headed to, the one marked on a map placed in obvious display on the handlebar bag exclusively for Smythe to see, was owned by a family named Berns.

Still, it was telling about Smythe, and Jane read him like a neon billboard seen from a slow-moving traffic jam. Smythe expected them to be stupid enough just to agree with the name he threw out, like they would pretend to be locals who knew the scene. Smart enough to test them, but he had low respect for other people. Figured Jane was a cop and Lisbon was a shill. Jane struggled to stop the sardonic smirk prompted by how wrong the Virginian was.

"I don't know who owns _that_, but my map says we are supposed to make the next left about two miles up ahead and then go a mile and a half along the ridge. Owned by my brother Keith Berns. Do you know him?"

Then Jane rolled his eyes as if embarrassed. He held out his hand.

"I'm sorry. I'm being rude. I'm Patrick Berns."

Smythe took his hand and tried a power-squeeze to assert dominance. Totally expected from the muscle-bound oaf. Still, Jane allowed it…to a point. "And this is…uh…my friend… Teresa Spain."

"Friend?" Lisbon asked, indignant. She put the perfect chill on her voice, just like they'd planned, once again reinforcing in his heart that she was the perfect partner.

"Girlfriend," Jane corrected himself. He made a show of bobbing his head, as if subservient. He looked over in time to see Smythe run an appraising slow look down Lisbon's body.

_Oh, this isn't good at all._ He hoped Lisbon was prepared with her hand-to-hand combat training. He looked at her face, glad to see it was settling into careful neutrality. Yes, Lisbon was aware of what kind of man they were dealing with.

"So, about the snowmobile," Jane said in the quick tones of someone trying to change the subject to get out of trouble with a woman. "Do you know anything about them?"

"I can look," Smythe said, not removing his rude stare from Lisbon as he stepped closer. When she backed up and put the machine between them, he finally looked into the engine compartment.

"The motor runs fine," Jane said. "I'm just not getting any power to the traction belt."

Smythe grunted and reached alongside the motor. He grunted again when he pulled out the belt Jane had broken and then had placed in a conspicuous spot.

"Drive belt, prolly." Smythe straightened to full height and smirked. "Looks like you ain't going anywhere fast."

On cue, Lisbon shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm so sorry, snookums." Jane said.

The disdain on Lisbon's face may not have been part of the act. Okay, maybe the nickname was a bit over the top, but hey, it seemed to work. Lisbon looked the exact part as the irritated girlfriend.

Jane turned to Smythe whose eyes had taken on a dangerous glint.

"Do you have phone? I can call my brother and ask him to maybe bring another machine so we can tow this one back to Vail."

"No phone. No cell either."

"Damn," Jane said sadly. "Keith warned me there was no reception up here. How do you call, then?"

Smythe shrugged and turned away.

"We don't. Well, come with me. You can warm up a bit before I drive you back down to where you kin git a coupla bars on your phone. Besides, it's gonna get dark soon."

"Aren't you cold?" Lisbon asked. "I'm freezing."

"I'm fine, little lady. A good man's always got a couple ways to keep warm. Come this way. We got a fire going."

Jane stopped his glance in the direction of the cabin, just in case Smythe was paying attention. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lisbon almost look that way but then made a bit of a show about looking around.

"Are there animals out here?" she asked, starting to follow the young man.

"There are. I seen some squirrel and a few elk. And a big ol' mountain lion once."

"Lion?" Lisbon hurried a little to get closer to Smythe.

Jane wasn't so confident about how far she should play the helpless female. Surely she recognized the misogynistic and brutal nature of their rescuer. Still she was the one with two big guns. The peashooter in Jane's boot might not be enough to stop this bear of a man, especially if he let loose his suppressed rage.

"Teresa," he called, opening the small storage bag on the snowmobile. "Come look at this stuff and tell me if you need any of it."

Lisbon looked at him a moment and then hurried back. When she leaned in to peer into the box, he murmured 'record'.

Acting like she hadn't heard, she dug around the compartment until she grabbed the bag of cough drops and some tissues. She stuffed them into her pocket.

The pocket that held the wireless radio's 'on' button.

"Everything else can stay there, I guess," she said to him. To Smythe she asked, "Are we going far? Am I going to need to bring all my Kleenex?"

"It's just up this here driveway," he said. "But we got butt paper you can use. That's good enough for yer runny nose."

He started walking, expecting them to catch up. Lisbon moved to follow but stopped, waiting for Jane to finish closing up the handlebar bag.

"What the hell," he said, loudly enough for Smythe to hear. "I'll just bring the whole thing. It's got the phone in it."

"Yeah, bring your purse," Smythe called back.

Jane quirked his eyebrow at Lisbon who visibly struggled against smiling.

_You just sealed your fate, Mr. Smythe._

And as Lisbon looked at him, the smile faded and her color drained a little.

Fear? Did Lisbon think just because he killed McAllister with his bare hands, he was capable of committing violence against Smythe? For shame, if she did. No, he'd just make certain that Smythe landed behind bars and stay there for a long time.

Jane removed the ire from his expression, dismayed that he'd allowed it to show. Or maybe Lisbon was just getting better at reading him. He doubted anyone else could have seen it.

As he drew closer to her, she reached forward to take his hand, but he refused. Hurt and confusion flushed her face. Didn't she remember she was supposed to be irritated with him?

"Sorry, _snookums_," he said, holding out the bag.

The reminder worked. She paused in surprise and blushed slightly before snatching the bag from his hand.

"Jerk," she said, half under her breath.

"I said I was sorry," he repeated, adding a little whine to his voice.

"'Sorry' won't fix the damn snowmobile," she said, getting into the tire trench after Smythe.

"Well…aren't you glad I talked you into getting those boots?" he asked, hurrying to catch up. "They're coming in handy, wouldn't you say?"

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to you."

"Sorry, snookums."

"It could be worse," she grumbled. "I could have a pair of boots like your ugly things."

"She's right," Smythe said, evidently reveling in their quarrel. "Those are ugly boots."

"They were on sale," Jane said, adding defensiveness to his reply.

"They must have been damned cheap."

"_He's_ damned cheap," Lisbon grumbled. "Could have rented a _good_ machine, but no! He had to save money by borrowing from his brother."

"Teresa…_snookums_…"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Sorry."

"And stop saying 'sorry'. Just…just be quiet."

Jane was waiting for the 'bite me!' exclamation next, but it never came. The rest of the walk to the cabin was in silence.

Well…mostly in silence. They were walking through snow at altitude, and the exercise was taxing his body and demanding more oxygen, so Jane's breaths were hard and deep, as were Lisbon's. Smythe's weren't quite as drawn, telling Jane that the backcountry boy had been in Colorado for a while, possibly over a week if he was acclimated to the thin air already.

Or the bastard was just in very good shape. That could be a problem when the trap got sprung. A temper and good physical fitness. It was time to tread very carefully.

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
